


Right Beside You

by feeisamarshmallow



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Episode: s04e03 Coral Palms Pt. 3, Episode: s04e04 The Night Shift, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, a bit of whump, a really long episode tag, a roadtrip, and a lot of Feelings, hurt Jake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2019-12-27 02:38:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18295172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeisamarshmallow/pseuds/feeisamarshmallow
Summary: Episode tag to 4x03 Coral Palms Pt. 3.What happens between Jake and Amy kissing in the ambulance, and Jake coming back to work at the Nine Nine? Jake has to get his leg looked after, Amy and Jake have to get back in sync, and the whole squad has to get back to New York.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic should be about 6 chapters in total. I have 4 written, so this should update weekly until it’s finished. It’s an episode tag to Coral Palms Pt. 3 that has run away from me in length; a fairly plotless excuse for me to write hurt/comfort, peraltiago and a roadtrip, arguably my three favourite things. 
> 
> Brief content warning for blood and medical stuff, since, you know, I’m writing about Jake getting shot in the leg. (Disclaimer that I have no real actual medical knowledge). 
> 
> Dialogue from ep 4x03 Coral Palms Pt. 3 and ep 4x04 The Night Shift is from the scripts on springfieldspringfield.co.uk. Title from the fantastic song “Beside You” by Marianas Trench.

“It was actually just like the end of Speed, which is a pretty good movie. It's not as good as Die Hard, though. Die Hard’s perfect.” Jake’s babbling, curled up around his leg, which is seeping blood through his cargo shorts. 

Amy wants to stay with him. Well, what she really wants is not to have shot him, but they’re past that point now. Figgis ran and dropped Jake as soon as she fired her gun. 

“Okay, Jake, I'm gonna go after Figgis.” At least he’s got his hand on the wound. Amy hopes he’s putting enough pressure on it. He is a cop, so he has first aid training. But it’s one thing attending to a gunshot victim, and another dealing with being shot himself. 

“Yeah, I was gonna say, you should keep going after Figgis. Same page, still!” He shouts after her, and then Amy’s gone. 

She rounds the corner of the mini golf course just in time to see a truck plow into Figgis’ car. The moment after the crash is eerily silent, but Amy quickly recovers from her shock and races towards the car with her gun drawn. It feels like the world erupts into chaos then. Gina is climbing down from the truck, somehow she has a gun too. Amy can see Captain Holt sitting up in the passenger seat. 

“Hand’s up, NYPD!” Amy commands Figgis. Gina keeps her gun drawn, but she has the sensibility to stand back and let Amy deal with Figgis. Figgis reluctantly gets out of the car with his hands up and Amy handcuffs him. 

Terry, Rosa and Charles are running across the parking lot as Amy roughly turns Figgis around. One of the Coral Palms PD officers follows from the opposite direction—the tall, black officer that Rosa took down inside the Fun Zone. Someone must have filled him in, though, because he introduces himself as Officer Jones, professional and ready to collaborate. Figgis shot the Sherriff, he tells them. 

“I had to shoot Jake—Detective Peralta,” she says for the sake of Officer Jones, “to free him from Figgis.” 

Amy sees worry cross Terry’s face for half a second before he responds. “Go! Take Rosa. We’ll deal with Figgis.” He grabs hold of Figgis’ handcuffs. 

Amy and Rosa are hurrying across the parking lot when another one of the Coral Palms PD Officers comes towards them. She doesn’t recognize him though; he must have just arrived. 

“Hold it right there,” he commands them, weapon drawn. 

“We’re NYPD.” Amy is desperate to get to Jake. “We’ve just apprehended a dangerous mob head—Jimmy Figgis. And one of our officers was shot. Contact the FBI if you don’t believe me.” 

The officer sneers at her. “You expect me to believe that?” 

Officer Jones follows, running towards them before Amy can speak. “Sherriff Reynolds was shot. We’ve called for medics and backup.” 

“Please—,“ Amy starts. 

The radio on the shoulder of the CPPD Officer crackles to life. The dispatcher on the other end is efficient and to the point. FBI on their way. Collaborate with the NYPD Officers. Hold Jimmy Figgis and contain the scene. 

Officer Jones puts his gun back in holster. “Collins, go with these officers, so they have radio access. I’ll stay here and direct the medics.” 

Collins nods and finally, finally, they’re on the move. Jogging back down the mini-golf path, towards Jake and the Sherriff. 

“I’ll go see if there’s a First Aid kit in the Fun Zone.” Rosa peels off across the parking lot towards the front door. 

Jake is still lying on the ground. He’s curled on his side, with both hands pressed over the wound on his leg. Amy is a good shot, and she knows exactly where to aim to minimize damage. But minimizing damage doesn’t avoid damage. Or eliminate possible complications. 

“Jake, I’m back. We caught Figgis. How are you feeling?” Amy kneels by Jake, and puts her hand on his. 

“There’s so much blood.” He sounds dazed. 

“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. We’re just gonna keep the pressure on. Medics are on the way. ” 

She’s relieved to see an exit wound on the other side of his lower thigh. She hit him a little to the right, trying to avoid the bone. There is a lot of blood, but it’s seeping, not spurting. And that, too, is a good sign. 

He groans when she presses down on his leg. 

“Talk to me, don’t think about it.” Amy commands. 

“I’m so happy you’re here.” 

She can feel his eyes on her, but she doesn’t look up from her hands. 

“Me too, Jake.” 

“I hate Florida. The pizza is cold and warm at the same time, and you’re not here, and there are so many bees…” he trails off. 

“But we’re going back to New York.” 

Rosa comes running with a dilapidated first aid kit in hand. She’s still breathing hard from sprinting over as she rifles through to find absorbent dressings. 

Jake makes a sound in the back of his throat. Then suddenly, he twists to look at his leg and blanches. Amy can hear sirens getting louder and louder as Jake breathing gets shallower and more rapid. 

“Hey, Jake. Look at me. You have to stay calm.” 

“I...I just don’t like…that I have blood. Remembering…that I have it.” 

“You don’t have to explain right now. I know. You just have to keep calm. Breath with me.” Amy takes exaggerated slow breaths. Jake tries to copy her rhythm and seems to calm a bit. 

“Amy’s the best shot in the precinct. You’ll be fine, dummy,” Rosa adds. She’s got gloves from the first aid kit, and is helping Amy keep pressure on his leg. 

“Uh-uh. ‘M the best shot,” Jake mumbles. 

Suddenly, a pair of paramedics appear from behind the tacky mini golf course. They introduce themselves as Emily and Craig, and Amy quickly fills them in on the situation. They take over from Amy and Rosa, adding bandages on top of the ones the detectives had applied. 

Amy finally lets herself stop and think about what had happened. She has Jake’s blood all over her hands, she couldn’t wait for the gloves that Rosa is wearing. She’s with Jake. She hurt Jake. Even though she kept reassuring him, she has no guarantee that he’s going to be okay. Bullet wounds are dangerous and fickle. She may have found Jake only to lose him all over again. 

She puts a hand reassuringly on his shoulder, even though she knows she’ll get blood on his shirt. Emily is speaking to Jake, while maintaining pressure on his leg. She has a kind, but firm voice. The other, Craig, is taking his vitals. 

“Jake, uh, Peralta,” he responds when she asks his name. “Detective Jake Peralta. Not Larry Sherbert. No way, never again.” 

The bleeding looks like it’s slowed down, and the paramedics are working with a fraction less urgency. 

“We’re just going to check you over for other injuries, Detective, and then we’ll get a move on. Are you injured anywhere else?” 

“I don’t think so. I don’t…I’m not good at thinking about. All this.” 

Craig is checking him over and Emily, the first paramedic, keeps talking. 

“How old are you, Detective?” 

“Uhh, 36?” He raises his voices at the end, unsure. 

“He’s 36,” Amy cuts in. 

“My girlfriend, Ames,” he murmurs. “She shot me.” 

Amy sputters a bit, not wanting the paramedics to misunderstand. “I had to shoot him, he was being held by a dangerous criminal. I shot him so the man would let go.” She tells the paramedics the calibre of her gun too, just in case it’s important. 

“How’s the pain? Scale of 1-10?” Emily continues. 

“Weirdly not bad. Seven? I feel like it should feel worse. I just feel so floaty, like I’m not really here. It’s really freaking me out. Like I’m freaked out on the inside, but I can’t even really freak out, ya know?” He’s pale. His eyes darting back and forth between the paramedics and Amy and his own leg, now wrapped in bandages. Amy knows that look, knows he feels trapped and anxious and that his brain is spinning faster than it can make sense. 

They ask more questions. So many questions. Allergies? “Bees and wasps,” Amy supplies. Does he take any medication? When was the last time he ate? 

Amy looks at the paramedics, concerned, but they’re not looking at her. They’re working on immobilizing his leg and positioning the gurney to move Jake onto it. 

“Okay Detective Peralta. We’re going to move you on to the stretcher so we can take you to the ambulance.” 

They move him onto the gurney and Jake lets out a shout in pain. Amy’s heart clenches at the sound. She did that to him. She had to stand back to let the paramedics move and it’s killing her that she can’t be holding his hand at this exact second. Rosa puts her arm around Amy, and Amy can’t remember Rosa ever showing physical affection like this. 

They take Jake back to the parking lot where the ambulance is parked. Amy sees the Sherriff is being treated in a second ambulance nearby. There are cop cars and flashing lights everywhere. The red and blue lights reflect off the pavement and bounce around the muggy air. 

Rosa turns to Amy, looking frazzled. Her hair is frizzy from the humidity and she looks exhausted. 

“Do you mind if I go see Figgis? I have a message from Adrian for him and I promised I’d delivered it.” 

Usually Rosa doesn’t ask her permission, unless it’s work-related, and it means a lot to Amy that Rosa is making sure that she’s okay. 

“Go. I’m okay. Thanks Rosa.” 

The paramedics have gotten Jake into the ambulance, and are talking to him again. 

“Detective Peralta? We’re just going to get some blood into you. It’ll help you feel better, okay?” 

“Okay.” Jake agrees, but he screws his eyes closed as Craig moves to insert the IV in the crook of his elbow. 

“Officer?” Amy realizes Emily, the paramedic, is talking to her. “We’re still going to be a minute, if you want to take the time to clean up. We’ll still be here.” 

Amy notices they’ve transferred Jake off the gurney again, and Emily is headed towards the parking lot with it. For Captain Holt, she realizes. There are only two ambulances in the parking lot, and the other one is about to leave with the Sherriff. She is irrationally annoyed that Jake is the one to share the ambulance, and not that piece of crap Sherriff. 

Amy doesn’t want to leave, but she realizes there’s no way she can physically get in the ambulance with Jake, so she takes the moment to clean up. When Amy comes back from scrubbing her hands, Jake is sitting on the ambulance floor. He seems a bit more with it; Amy assumes they’ve given him something for the pain. He perks up when Amy walks up to him. 

“Hey, how’s the Sherriff?” 

“Well he keeps yelling, ‘Disability for life!’ So I think he’s fine. Also Coral Palms PD found your marshal at Figgis’ hideout alive and well.” 

“Oh, that’s great.” It’s a good sign that Jake is thinking clear enough to ask about the Sherriff. 

“Yeah.” 

“How are you doing?” Amy moves closer to him. 

“Fine, you know. Just getting bandaged up.” 

He’s clenching and unclenching his fist. Amy wonders if the paramedics directed him to do that to help with blood flow, like when she donates blood. Amy notices they’re giving him a transfusion. But it’s such a nervous habit of Jake’s to fidget when he’s uncomfortable, that’s all Amy can see as he rhythmically opens and closes his fist. He’s putting on a brave act, but that, too, is a good sign. He’s much more aware, and Amy doesn’t see any signs of the panic that was setting in when she first got to him. 

The second paramedic, Craig, is fiddling with the bandages on Jake’s leg. Jake turns his attention from Amy, and addresses him. 

“Actually, can you give us a second? Thanks.” Craig exits out the side door of the ambulance. More good signs, that they don’t think Jake needs constant attention. 

Jake turns back to Amy. She can see the pain in his eyes a little bit now. 

“It hurts so bad. I just didn’t want to seem weak in front of EMT Craig,” he admits. 

For some reason, that brings out a small smile from Amy. She loves this man so much. Jake and his constant jokes, and ridiculous bravado, and uncanny ability to stay cool in the face of danger. 

“So I know this is weird to say, because I just shot you, but it feels like we’re back in sync now,” Amy tells him. He looks up at her with those melting brown eyes, and she can’t believe it’s been 6 months since he left for Florida. 

“Yeah, I mean, as in sync as I’ve ever been with someone who just shot me.” There are the jokes she missed in laughingly-inappropriate situations. 

“I love you.” She’s close to him now, standing right up against the cold metal side of the ambulance. 

“I love you, too.” They kiss, and it’s everything and nothing like she obsessively imagined over the last six months. 

“Hey,” Jake breaks their embrace, “do you happen to know my blood type?” 

“Yeah, B positive.” She doesn’t even have to think, pulling back from Jake to look at him, confused.” 

“Well, guessed wrong.” There’s a bit of panic returning to his face. “Hey Craig?” he calls, pulling at the IV in his arm. 

“Wait, Jake.” Amy reaches out to grab his hands. “They wouldn’t give you a transfusion without making sure it’s safe. Just leave it in, I’ll go get Craig and he can reassure you, okay?” 

“But what if he didn’t, Amy? What if he forgot?” His voice is rising in pitch. 

“He didn’t forget. Just stay there, I’ll be right back.” Amy jogs around the side of the ambulance. 

She comes back with Craig, to find Jake once again tugging at his IV cannula in his elbow. 

“Hey man, you gotta stop that.” This time it’s Craig who grabs his hands. “It’s universal blood. It’s safe, okay. Leave the IV alone.” 

“You’re sure?” Jake’s voice is quiet. 

“I’m sure. We’re good to go, by the way. Let’s just get you back on the gurney.” 

Amy assumes another ambulance, or some sort of transport, must have shown up for Captain Holt. She wishes she could tell the paramedics to stop, to give her and Jake more time alone together, to make sure he’s calm and okay before they take him to the hospital. But she knows that’s not a good idea, and instead she reaches for hand. 

“I’ll see you later. Everything’s gonna be okay, just trust that people are gonna take care of you. I love you.” She says it with a touch of urgency, trying to make her voice stick, so it will last until she can see him again. 

“Love you too, Ames. So much.” 

The paramedics tell her the hospital they’re headed to, and she goes to confer with the rest of the squad and follow in their van. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I had originally written that Jake had First Responder’s training, which led me down a hole researching what constitutes a Certified First Responder. I learned that the NYPD (and my local police department in Canada) only require Standard First Aid and CPR (which, like, I have), and the NYPD only started training patrol officers in Advanced First Aid for the first time in 2016. 
> 
> -I actually did a bunch of research for this fic, but please keep in mind I’m just an Environmental Studies graduate and underemployed translator with too much time on my hands. Beyond my Standard First Aid training, I have zero real medical knowledge. 
> 
> -I had to figure out some way to account for the fact that Jake is sitting on the floor of the ambulance when Amy talks to him at the end of the episode. They all seemed remarkably calm for the fact that he had been shot, even though (from my research it seems like) it’s highly possible it wouldn’t hurt him too badly. I decided the paramedics were also dealing with Holt at the same time. Whether this is realistic or not, I have no idea. (By this logic, the two paramedics treating him should both be men—EMT Craig as mentioned in the episode, and the other male paramedic seen with Holt. But I had already created Emily the paramedic and was too lazy to rewrite). 
> 
> -On that note, I know that EMTs and paramedics are actually different things, and have different levels of certification. But, I’m Canadian, and we only ever refer to our ambulance staff as paramedics. It seems like paramedics are more advanced than EMTs, and only paramedics can provide treatments that break the skin, such as administering medications and starting IV lines. Anyways, it was too much work to parse whether they would be EMTs or paramedics, or one of each, in the situation, so I just call them paramedics, except for the canon line where Jake calls him ‘EMT Craig’. *Shrugs.* It is fanfic after all. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think, or come say hi on tumblr @feeisamarshmallow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Figgis has been caught. Jake and Holt are en route to the hospital. But now the Nine Nine have a moment to process everything that has just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently looking for a beta reader, since all my fic thus far has been unbeta’d. If you’re interested let me know (I’d also be willing to beta in return)!

This has to be the most chaotic scene of arrest Amy has ever dealt with. Even though the squad has their NYPD identification, the Coral Palms PD still don’t exactly know what to do with them. Officer Jones is capable, but the Sergeant who shows up and takes over command is infuriatingly incompetent. Then two FBI representatives arrives, and everyone is jockeying for control and information. The other officers make Gina wait in the CPPD Cruiser, because she isn’t a cop. But somehow she keeps escaping and finding her way back to the rest of the Nine Nine, standing in a lopsided huddle on the other side of the parking lot. 

Amy just wants to leave, to get to the Coral Palms Medical Centre and see Jake, but the CPPD Sergeant is briefing everyone, painstakingly slowly, and demanding once again to see their ID. One of the FBI Agents and two of the CPPD Officers take Figgis away, into custody. Finally, the Sergeant takes their contact information, and lets them go. Amy is elated, she turns to leave with the rest of the squad, when the Sergeant clears his throat.

“Um Officer?” He gestures impatiently at Amy. 

“Detective Santiago,” she corrects curtly. 

“Can we have a word? You shot um, he looks down at his notepad, Jacob Peralta.” 

“Yes, Sir. Detective Jake Peralta. He was held at gunpoint by Jimmy Figgis. I shot him in the leg so Figgis would let him go.” 

“I see. I’m going to need to take a statement from you.” He fumbles with his pencil, drops it and it rolls a few feet into a puddle. Florida is so damp, it’s wet everywhere. (Title of your sex tape, Amy thinks idly). 

She sighs inwardly. But it is routine, she can’t blame the Sergeant, no matter how incompetent he is. All she wants is to get to Jake. She’s trying to keep the anxious thoughts at bay. The ones that remind her of every complication, rare or common, from gunshot wounds. Will he be at the hospital yet? What if she caused nerve damage? What if he never fully heals, what if it’s a permanent injury? 

“Detective?” the Sergeant prompts, and Amy realizes she didn’t even hear his questions. 

Terry lets the rest of the squad go ahead while Amy finishes with the CPPD Sergeant, giving them the keys to the van. It’s pretty beat up at this point, but still drivable. Amy is done, and Terry already has a cab waiting for them. He opens the door for her, and instead of taking the roomy front seat, he slides in after her. Amy is freezing all of a sudden. It’s still muggy outside, and the cab driver doesn’t even have his AC on, but Amy can’t stop shaking. 

Terry looks over at her, concern in his eyes. 

“You okay, Santiago?” 

“I—,” her voice breaks. “I don’t know Sarge.” 

“You did great work, tonight. That was…that was insane. I’ve seen a lot of crazy things on the force over the years, and this definitely wasn’t the worst, but it was up there.” 

Amy nods. Logically, the outcome of the situation was better than could have been expected. No life-threatening injuries. (As long as Amy doesn’t remember all her encyclopedic knowledge about gunshot wound complications. She lives in America after all, it’s pertinent to know these things). Figgis taken into custody. FBI Agent found unharmed and safe. And yet—

“It’s different when it’s with the Nine Nine. Everything means more.” 

“Y’all are my work babies. Terry’s gotta take of you.” 

“I can’t believe we drove all the way to Florida. I can’t believe I shot Jake. I can’t believe we haven’t worked with Captain Holt and Jake for six months.” Amy’s sobbing now, in the back of a dingy cab in an off-the-map town in the middle of Florida. “I can’t believe it started to feel normal without them. And then,” she hiccups, “me and Jake couldn’t get into sync, and what if we never really get into sync, and what if, what if…” 

Amy’s tears have set off Terry’s, but he’s valiantly trying to keep them under control. 

“I’m just so glad you’re all okay, and that we caught Figgis,” he says, voice strained. 

Amy wants to continue talking, but her sobs have contracted into hyperventilation. 

“Hey, Santiago. Just breathe. It’ll be okay. We’re almost at the hospital, and then you can see Peralta, and we’ll take him and the Captain back to New York, and you and Jake will go back to annoying each other because you’re so in love.” 

“Promise?” Amy pulls in a ragged breath. 

Terry screws up his eyes, and Amy knows that police officers are never supposed to promise the outcome of a situation. 

“It’s okay,” Amy’s reigned her breathing in, it’s more regular now. “I know the rules. But if you promise, I won’t hold you to it.” 

“In that case, I promise that it’ll get better. How about that?” 

“Thanks Sarge.” 

The taxi driver has taken in their whole scene quietly, calmly driving the car. But when the conversation between them ends, he silently reaches back to offer them a cigarette from his box. 

It’s ridiculous and kind of gross and all Amy wants right now is a cigarette. She grabs one. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Need a light?” the driver asks, his voice raspy but kind. 

Before he can put the box back in his cup-holder, and pass back a lighter, Terry grabs one too. 

“Sarge?” Amy gasps. 

“What the heck? This has been a crazy night. Terry deserves to take the edge off, too.” 

~

Charles, Gina, Rosa, Hitchcock and Scully are already waiting at Coral Palms Medical Centre. Rosa explains that they had trouble getting information, even with their badges. After all, neither Jake nor Captain Holt had proper identification on them, only their WITSEC ID as Greg Stickley and Larry Sherbert. And of course, those names didn’t match the ones Holt and Jake had given the paramedics. Finally, Rosa says, a representative from the FBI showed up and smoothed things over, and they had gotten an update on Holt and Jake. 

Holt is being treated for a puncture wound to his left thigh, but he hasn’t been admitted. He specifically requested that the Nine Nine wait outside for him to be finished, which Charles adds is a direct quote. They have less of an update on Jake. All they’ve been told is he is stable, and being treated for a gunshot wound to his right leg. 

Rosa looks exhausted and is sitting in the waiting room, staring into space. Charles keeps excusing himself to go to the bathroom, while Gina plays _Kwazy Kupcakes_ on her phone with more focus than Amy has ever seen have. It’s like the detectives were in a holding pattern until the Sarge finally arrived. Amy feels bad that Terry let her cry all over him on the way here, and he still hasn’t gotten a break. When they enter the waiting room where they’ve been directed, the FBI representative rises from a few chairs down, and Terry introduces himself. 

Amy lets herself slide down the wall and into a seat next to Rosa. They don’t say anything, but Rosa nudges her vending-machine tea a bit closer to Amy, and she obliges with a sip of thin peppermint tea. At some point a representative from the CPPD arrives too, briefly. He talks to the FBI and to Terry, but largely ignores the rest of the Nine Nine sitting dazed in the all-beige waiting of the Coral Palms Medical Centre. 

Amy feels like she should be doing something more to help. She knows she should be thinking about all the logistics that needed figuring out. They weren’t even supposed to be down in Florida. They needed to get back. Holt needed to get back and he couldn’t even walk. And Jake… She feels like she should be more worried about Jake. Jake, who hates hospitals, who had to spend six months of his life in this stupid hot and muggy town, who she had to shoot in the leg when they should have been sharing a tender reunion kiss. She’s waiting for the panic to set in again, but it doesn’t. Instead Amy trains her eyes on the muted TV. It’s playing some sort of documentary about alligators, with unrelated scenes of ATVs tearing through swampy terrain. 

She must have dozed off, but just for a bit, because the alligator/ATV show is still playing silently on the TV. Charles, Rosa and Terry are standing in the corner. Gina has also fallen asleep, her phone still in hand. Amy moves to join them. 

“I just got off the phone with Captain Stentley,” Terry is saying. 

“What did he say?” Charles asks. 

“Well, after I finally got him to understand the situation,” Terry begins, and Rosa quirks up an eyebrow. “Well, understand more-or-less,” Terry amends. 

“He’s pretty upset, but he did understand. He gave us permission to wait for Captain Holt and then head back to New York early tomorrow morning, or err,” he checks his watch, “today. We’re sorting out the issues with the van, and have his permission to rent a new one for the drive back. We’re also gonna book rooms so we can all get a little sleep before we leave. Captain Holt will be able to finish up with the FBI in New York.” 

“But, Sarge!” Both Amy and Charles erupt with questions. 

“I know you all want to stay here. But if we have to drive tomorrow we need to be rested. And we have to drive because, even though I think this was the right decision, we’re still on the hook for taking unauthorized time off and Captain Stentley is being more than gracious.” 

“More than gracious my ass.” Rosa interjects. “We capture Figgis, save Jake and Holt. We only go because that butthead won’t give us permission, and now we have to be grateful we have to drive back after the night we’ve had?” 

Terry tries to placate her, but Amy recognizes the fire in her eyes. 

“Rosa,” he starts. 

“Nah, it’s okay Sarge, I get it. It’s bullshit, but it’s not your bullshit. But I’m not sleeping. You get some sleep, I’ll wait for Captain Holt.” 

“And what about Jake?” Amy finally gets a word in. 

Terry looks pained. “We don’t know if Jake will be discharged tonight, or today, or you know what I mean. Captain Stentley made it pretty clear we needed to be headed back by morning. And the FBI will make the arrangements to get Jake back to New York.” 

Amy feels the tears start to come again. They’re leaking down her cheeks, slow this time, unlike the uncontained sobs she let loose in the cab on the way over. She wants to fight the Sarge but it’s not his rules. It’s stupid Captain Stentley and stupid, stupid Figgis. 

“That is bullshit,” Amy manages, but she can hear the tears in her voice. “I’m staying with Rosa, I want to at least see Jake before we leave.” 

~

The rest of the squad leave. The TV still plays on mute. Now it’s some sort of documentary about robot contests, weird looking contraptions battling it out in rings like some sort of futuristic wrestling. TV in the early hours of the morning is truly bizarre. Finally, a doctor comes out with news of Jake. She’s the same height as Amy, and so Amy can’t help but stare right into her eyes as she speaks. They’re brown, like Amy’s, and she can’t shake the feeling that she’s staring at herself in an alternate reality. 

“Mr. Peralta is fine. He was very lucky, the bullet passed through the outside of his right thigh without any major damage. We cleaned and sutured the wound. But we want to monitor him due to the blood loss he sustained. ” 

Amy stops listening after she hears ‘without any major damage.’ He’s okay. He is okay. 

“Can I see him?” 

“We’re just getting him settled. Someone will let you know when you can see him.” 

Not five minutes later Captain Holt enters the waiting room. He’s using crutches, no doubt because he refused a wheelchair. 

“Detective Diaz, Santiago.” He nods at them. “Thank you for waiting for me. It means a lot.” He keeps his face neutral, but Amy knows this is as close to a tearful reunion as Captain Holt gets. 

“How are you feeling, Sir?” Amy asks. 

“I am in less pain than before, mostly because of the medication. Apparently it is inadvisable to use crutches with the pain medication due to an inability to balance, but I believe I am doing fine.” Holt sways a bit on his feet, and Rosa walks over, discretely, to steady him. 

Rosa calls for a cab—they’re getting a lot of business tonight from the Nine Nine—and leaves for the hotel with Captain Holt, and with that Amy is alone. 

It’s late, and it’s not a very big hospital, so it feels eerie and quiet especially with the rest of the squad gone. Amy hears the occasional squeaking of shoes or wheels, the occasional PA call, but mostly it’s just quiet. 

She thinks of Jake. It’s great, more than great, that he’s okay. But she knows he doesn’t like hospitals. This is the second time he’s been injured and Amy wasn’t able to be right there with him at the hospital. She thinks back to his accident in Atlantic City, they weren’t even dating then. She didn’t know until the next morning. Captain Holt had called her into his office to break the news, and they had gone to visit him at the hospital that evening. She knows they have protocol to follow, and sometimes that’s more important. She knows that even if she got to ride in the ambulance with him, she would still be sitting in the waiting room, but it doesn’t make her feel better. 

She tries to methodically go through how they would have treated Jake. Amy’s not a doctor, but she is very adept with google, and knows how to use her old NYU student ID to access their library and its free textbooks. They would have debrided the wound, maybe just with saline if it wasn’t too severe. They probably took x-rays or some other imaging too, just to make sure the bullet didn’t damage the bone. 

Her bullet. From her gun. God she had shot Jake. 

Even with a through-and-through shot there would be damage to the muscle. He’d be off the leg for a good while. Amy’ll have to convince him to take the doctor’s suggestion for physical therapy seriously. They will have given him pain medication, probably prescribed a course of antibiotics, since an open wound caused by a foreign object is the perfect condition for infection. 

Maybe she could’ve saved him from Figgis another way. Maybe she could have shot Figgis somehow instead. What if the CPPD investigated and found she didn’t shoot in defense of herself and Jake. What if they somehow find her guilty? But that would mean Jake would have to press charges, right? She doesn’t know, why doesn’t she know, she’s a cop she should know this, she does know this. 

She knows they were giving Jake a blood transfusion, they were concerned about blood loss. But the paramedics weren’t too urgent, she wonders if they gave him another on arrival, or if he was okay. They wanted to observe him for a while. That’s not a cause for alarm, but it does mean there are some concerns or else they would have just observed him in the emergency department for a time before release. 

Or at least that’s what she thinks. She’s just a cop with First Aid training and impeccable research skills. She still knows next to nothing about what goes on in a hospital, next to nothing about how to save Jake’s life. She could have killed him. Could have made a freak shot that ricocheted around his body. 

But she didn’t. This isn’t the first time she’s had to fire her gun while on duty. “You have to hold yourself to the highest standard of safety and care. But you also have to know, even the highest standard isn’t perfect.” That’s what her favourite instructor, Lieutenant Ann Stevens, had told her at the Academy. 

“Excuse me, Ms. Santiago.” 

Amy has to restrain herself from physically jumping. 

The young nurse resumes speaking now that she’s got Amy’s attention. She looks kind and alert, even though it’s the middle of the night. She has her microbraids tied up in a bun, and is wearing sunny yellow scrubs. 

“You can see Mr. Peralta now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Fun fact: The weird robot contest show playing in the hospital waiting room is based on my real life experience. I worked at a summer camp and had to take a camper to the hospital, and let me tell you, TV at 2am in a small town hospital is wild. 
> 
> -Again just want to reiterate, I am not a doctor or medical professional! Despite some research, any mistakes (and I know there will be lots) are my own. This is just for fun, after all. Also, writing from Amy’s perspective of how she thinks they treated Jake is a great way to get around mistakes and inconsistencies. 
> 
> -The line about sharing a tender reunion kiss is a little shout-out to an interview about Dan Goor constantly writing about Jake & Amy’s ‘tender’ kisses in the scripts. 
> 
> -Also I apologize for any inconsistencies in the Florida landscape. I’m not American, and I tried my best to imagine how the weather must feel and surroundings must look via google maps and weather sites. 
> 
> Tell me what you think! Or come say hi on tumblr @feeisamarshmallow


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy finally gets to see Jake. Then, they have to say goodbye all over again, at least this time it’s only for a few days. Amy updates the Squad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [ kamekamelea ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamelea/pseuds/kamelea) for the beta!

Jake’s eyes are closed when she enters his room. It’s semi-private, and there’s no one else in the room right now. The lights are dimmed, and Amy thinks Jake’s asleep until he opens his eyes.

“Hey Ames.” 

“Hey,” she says softly, taking a seat next to his bed. 

“I missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too. It was only a few hours…” she trails off. 

“But it felt like forever,” Jake finishes. His voice is soft and melancholic, but there’s a hint of a smile too. 

Then Amy’s crying again. These are gentle tears though. Tears of relief. 

“How are you doing?” Jake asks.

He looks up at her, and briefly reaches his hand up to her cheek. It feels so good to feel his skin, when it’s not her hand on his leg stopping the flow of blood. Jake’s hand is warm against the tears running down her face. 

“I should be asking you that,” she replies. 

Jake shrugs. “It was a crazy night.” 

“But it’s over now.” 

All of it is over. Witness Protection. Florida. Figgis. The blood seeping out of Jake’s leg. Amy hears footsteps of someone walking down the hallway, and the shadows of a passing form play across the floor. 

“How are you doing though, really?” Amy asks after a moment. Jake’s leg is elevated a bit on a pillow but it’s covered with the blanket. 

“I…” his voice cracks, “I’ve been better to be honest.” 

Amy nods. 

“And I’m just so tired,” he continues. 

She can see the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes and his mouth. There’s a relief in his posture, though, that comes with the exhaustion. He has a band-aid on his right elbow, where he had the first IV placed. Now he has an IV in left hand, and Amy takes his right in hers. 

“I’m so sorry—“

Jake cuts Amy off. “Shhh, I know, you don’t have to be.” 

Amy doesn’t speak. She looks over at Jake. He looks tired and a little pale, but otherwise okay. His hair has grown out longer than he usually keeps it, and even his bleached tips look good to her right now. 

Jake tightens his grip on Amy’s hand. Nothing else matters right now. They’re back together, and they’re okay, and that means everything else will be okay too. 

“Jake?” Amy whispers after a while. 

“Hmm.” He opens his eyes. 

“I have to leave, in the morning.” She has put off talking about this for as long as possible. “I don’t know when they’ll discharge you.” 

Jake nods, slowly, and keeps his face neutral. 

“Are you driving back to New York?” 

“Mhmm.” Amy’s slowly rubbing her thumb on Jake’s hand, and struggling to show the same neutrality. She doesn’t know whether Jake is putting on a brave face for her, or if he’s not fully present in the conversation. She knows they’ll see each other soon, but it still feels like yet another goodbye. 

“Need to get some sleep then.” Jake closes his eyes, and Amy’s not sure whether he means that she needs the sleep, or that he does. 

“’M serious,” he continues, eyes still shut. “Y’need sleep.” 

“I—I had to see you first. I had to see you were okay with my own eyes.” Amy’s not going to cry again, she’s not. But there are so many feelings threatening to finally surface after a tumultuous 24 hours. 

“Me too. ‘Was staying awake to see you. I love you, Ames. We’ll be okay.” 

“I love you too, Jake.” She leans over to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

The sky is growing light, with streaks of grey appearing in the window. 

“Sleep,” Jake insists. He’s taking care of her, too. He’s the one she has to leave in the hospital, with a hole in his leg, and he’s still there for her. 

“Don’t wanna leave you.” Now Amy’s eyes have closed too. 

She at least has the foresight to set a quiet alarm on her phone before she drifts off to sleep in the plastic chair beside Jake’s bed, hand in hand. 

~

It feels like only moments later when the soft bells of Amy’s alarm sound. She stirs and shuts off the alarm, rolling out her neck and her shoulders. She did wake up briefly when a nurse came in to check on Jake, but quickly fell back asleep. 

“I have to leave now, but I love you so much, and I’ll see you soon in New York,” Amy whispers, leaning over Jake. “I’ll help you out with all the medical stuff, so don’t worry if you can’t remember everything they tell you. The FBI are in charge of all the logistics. You’re gonna be okay.” 

She figures Jake’s still asleep, and she’ll tell him everything she just said over text, too. But it seems important to say it all aloud. Then it dawns on her, she still doesn’t have his number. She rifles through her purse for a pen and paper, one-handed so she doesn’t have to untangle her hand from Jake’s until the last moment. She finishes her note, adding her phone number at the bottom and feeling like a teenager leaving her number for a boy. She puts it on the table next to his bed. Then she leans over to kiss him on the forehead, and Jake stirs. 

“Thanks Ames, love you too.” 

They kiss again, this time on the mouth, lingering a little before Jake finally pulls away. Amy doesn’t want to leave, but she has to. She wishes she could stay and be the one to collect all the information she knows they’ll give Jake upon discharge. Wishes she could help him into the car, and drive away. She’d let him sit in the back seat, with his leg up, and play Taylor Swift all the back to New York. Instead she looks back one last time, and leaves him in a hospital bed, on his own. She’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday, wrinkled and sweat-stained, so she walks down the hall looking for a bathroom to freshen up. She pops a piece of gum, and answers a text from Terry, letting him know she’ll meet him at the hotel. 

There aren’t any taxis waiting in front of the hospital this early in the morning. Amy considers calling the same cab company from last night, but instead she opens the map on her phone, and searches the distance to the hotel. It’s only a 15 minute walk and Amy figures the fresh air will do her good. She pulls her hair out from its ponytail, half of it had fallen out anyways, and redoes it. 

She has to admit, Coral Palms in the October morning is fairly pleasant. It’s still warm, but the air holds less humidity, and the rising sun feels good on Amy’s face. She follows the highway: There are a few cars on it, but not many. She walks past a car wash with a waving rusty clown statue, over a small culvert and under the shadow of a few palm trees. On the corner sits a dilapidated clapboard house. An older woman perches on a couch on the porch having a smoke. The woman watches her, curiously, but Amy doesn’t feel it’s malicious. 

The man loading a toolbox into the back of pickup, however, feels very malicious as he rakes his eyes over her body. She tries to picture Jake and Captain Holt making their home here over the past six months. When she thinks about them, she pictures Holt in his Captain’s uniform. Or in his sweaters and respectable dress pants. Jake, she thinks about his hoodies and his leather jacket. Did Jake even need his hoodies here? 

Was Holt’s WITSEC alias gay, too? Did he feel safe here, in this backwater town in the middle of Florida? What did he spend his days doing? Maybe there was a public library here. Did he still get the New York Times crossword puzzles? And Kevin—how did Holt cope without his husband? 

She’s walking past a strip mall, now. The pizza place and pet food store are closed, but there’s a 24 hour MacDonald’s on the corner and two lonely cars in the parking lot. 

What about Jake? The summer before last, a heat wave descended upon the city, and Amy and Jake took refuge at the public pool on a rare, shared day off. Jake was a surprisingly good swimmer, something about summers spent at camp. Every day in Coral Palms must have been like that sweltering hot spell. Did Jake find a pool to swim in here? Summer in New York had been so lonely this year without Jake. Jake missed Passover with his mom, back when the spring was still turning to summer, and his absence was still a new, acute type of pain. He isn’t particularly religious, but he’s close with his mother and Amy knows it means a lot to both of them. Did he celebrate here, on his own? Or just let the day slide by like any other? 

She passes an office park with blinds pulled shut, then an empty lot, another 24 hour fast food joint, and then, finally, the hotel. The rest of the squad are waiting in the parking lot. Rosa and Terry are rearranging the luggage in the back of the van, and Charles is juggling a takeout tray of coffees and paper bag. Terry raises an arm in greeting, and even Gina looks up from her phone. 

Amy opens her mouth to say something, but finds she has no words. Instead she returns Terry’s wave. Charles sidles up next to her, and Amy braces for a longwinded line of questioning. 

Instead he simply says, “Got you an egg McMuffin, and some coffee.” 

A beat of silence, and then, because he’s Charles, “It’s a simple palette, but acceptable for the circumstances.” 

Terry gives Charles a pointed look. 

“Sorry, Sarge I couldn’t help it. You know I food-talk when I’m stressed.” 

“It’s okay Charles,” Amy says, confused. 

“I wasn’t supposed to bug you with questions. The Sarge said to give you space,” he explains. 

Amy sees the worry written plainly on Charles’ face, sees Rosa’s deliberately blank expression, and Terry’s tightly drawn eyebrows. Gina is still holding her phone, but Amy can now see that the screen is dark and blank. She can see Holt’s silhouette, already sitting in the van, and she can’t read his face, but his body looks tense. Even Hitchcock and Scully are uncharacteristically silent as they sit on the curb. Amy takes a deep breath, drawing in the warm air. 

“Jake’s okay. I saw him last night. I didn’t get to talk to a doctor about when he might be discharged, but they only kept him for observation. If the FBI fly him back, he might even beat us to New York.” 

“I was so worried something had gone wrong.” Charles physically crumples as he exhales a sigh of relief. 

“He’s okay, well given the circumstances, but he’s okay.” 

The squad nods, and Charles resumes handing out breakfast. 

Amy speaks again. “How’s Captain Holt doing?” 

“I think he fell asleep.” Charles turns to peer through the van’s semi-tinted windows. They’ve rented a 10 seater, Amy assumes so that Holt can take up a row for himself. 

“He’s okay too. I think he even got some sleep last night, and they gave him some painkillers,” Terry updates. 

At the same time Rosa scowls. “He’s so stubborn. Wouldn’t let me help him. Wants us to just forget about it, but he still can barely walk!” 

“Girl,” Gina drawls. “Do you remember when you got sick and I had to literally lock you in a room so you would rest?”

Amy remembers. She can’t ever think of a time Rosa has admitted she was sick or hurt. 

“I wasn’t sick,” Rosa retorts. 

Gina gives her a pointed look. 

“That was a cold. This is a fucking piece of rebar through his leg.” 

Rosa’s not talking that loudly, but her voice echoes across the empty parking lot. 

“All I’m saying is, he might be stubborn because he doesn’t like asking for help, not because he thinks he doesn’t need it.” 

“That was…surprisingly astute, Gina,” Terry says. 

“What can I say, I’m kinda a genius.” Gina flounces over the passenger side of the van, her snuggie flying out around her like a cape. “Now let’s hit it.” 

Gina can be infuriating at times, but she knows the squad inside and out, and she has a special knack for saying exactly what needs to be said. Amy thinks about the time Jake got hit by a car. He was hurt even before the accident, unwilling to admit the extent of his injuries and flat-out refusing to take time off. Hell, even she had hidden her sprained ankle from the rest of the Nine Nine. She only let Jake help her under the guise of winning a bet for which the prize was Jake as her servant for the day. It was a stupid injury; she hurt her ankle at a dance-fitness class. Gina isn’t only talking about Holt, she’s talking about the whole squad’s difficulty asking for help outright. 

Amy follows Gina, walking around the front of the van, and rest of the squad piles in after them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Passover in 2016, according to Wikipedia, started on April 23rd, which would have been just after Holt and Jake were moved to Florida. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The squad drives back to New York. Jake and Amy exchange text messages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to [kamelea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamelea) for the beta!

Charles takes the first shift driving. Amy passes out immediately and misses all of Florida and most of Georgia. She sleeps deeply, and wakes up disoriented when her phone buzzes against her thigh. It’s an unknown number. 

Most of the car are asleep too. They’re somewhere just outside of Savannah, Georgia. The sun has risen now and the sky is clear and blue. Hitchcock and Scully are snoring on each other’s shoulders in the back seat. Amy can see Holt’s head tipped back on the seat in front of her, but she’s not sure if he’s asleep, or just closing his eyes. Terry is out to her right. Rosa, to her left, is awake but staring silently out the window. Gina is passed out in the front seat she claimed, despite being the smallest out of the eight of them. 

Amy opens the message. 

_Gonna have a cool scar now._

It’s Jake. Amy smiles, and writes back.

**Amy**  
_One step closer to your ultimate dream of becoming an action star._

**Jake**  
_Another step to becoming the next Bruce Willis in Die Hard._

Jake’s text comes in at the same time, and Amy has to swallow back laughter. They really are back in sync. 

**Amy**  
_Have you got an update?_

**Jake**  
_The doc said I’m good. Well he said a lot of stuff I didn’t really listen to, but I’m getting out today._

**Amy**  
_You might beat us back to New York._

**Jake**  
_I dunno, the FBI won’t tell me anything about what’s happening._

**Amy**  
_How are you feeling though?_

**Jake**  
_Getting shot hurts like hell. ___

____

**Amy**  
_I’m sorry._

**Jake**  
_It’s alll good. I’m sorry I like freaked out._

**Amy**  
_Jake you don’t have to be sorry. I shot you!_

**Jake**  
_I wanted to be all cool action guy, but it was actually kinda scary._

**Amy**  
_That’s because cool action guys don’t actually get shot!!_

**Jake**  
_True I actually never thought of that._

**Amy**  
_You never thought of that?!?_

Charles pulls off the freeway and finds a gas station. They all pile out of the car, even Captain Holt, who maintains it’s important to stretch out his leg. Charles refuels the car, and the rest of them walk across the parking lot to use the bathroom in the fast food joint next door. 

It’s flat and most of the trees are still green this early in October. Amy and Rosa come back from the bathroom to find Terry doing jumping jacks in the gas station parking lot. 

“Gotta get my blood pumping before I get behind the wheel. Don’t want Terry getting restless!” he explains. 

~

Amy has a window seat this time. She watches the scenery blow by and compulsively checks her phone for Jake’s response. It’s getting closer to noon, now, and they’re somewhere in South Carolina. The squad is finally waking up. Holt requests they turn the radio to NPR, and because he’s injured, no one wants to say no. 

They’re listening to some program called _Sonatas and Soundscapes_. Amy can appreciate classical music, but she can’t say it would be her choice today. Holt, however, is nodding along and offering his review of each off the pieces.

The first piece, he says, is, “too presumptuous, are those horn players trying to knock me from my seat? A Sonata should be a smooth ascent, not a sudden assault.”

The second piece however, features, “a saxophone quartet that is to die for. Am I being too dramatic? Hah there is no such thing when it comes to saxophone quartets.” 

The host introduces the next song, and Amy’s phone finally vibrates again. 

**Jake**  
_There are so many people coming in to talk to me. I get it, I have a hole in my leg, why do so many people need to talk to me about it?_

**Amy**  
_I’m sure it’s not that many._

**Jake**  
_Some dude just came to show me how to use crutches. I’m pretty sure I know how to use them._

**Amy**  
_Actually it’s very common for people to use crutches wrong. You’re not supposed to rest your armpits on them, it’s all in the arms._

**Jake**  
_Well what are the armpit-resty things for then?_

**Amy**  
_I actually don’t know._

**Jake**  
_Hah alert the media there is something Amy Santiago doesn’t know!!_

**Amy**  
_Shut up._

**Jake**  
_Also there’s so much paperwork! It’s worse than being a cop. Also who do I put down as my doctor if I don’t have one?_

**Amy**  
_You don’t have one?_

**Jake**  
_I never go to the doctor._

**Amy**  
_You’re the most accident-prone person I know, how do you not have a doctor?_

~

They’ve stopped to change drivers again, outside of Fayetteville in North Carolina. It’s well past lunch time, and Amy is restless from eight hours spent in a van with too many people. They’re only halfway there, and Amy doesn’t even want to imagine how many more miles they have to cover. 

Terry is anxious to keep going, but the rest of the squad convince him to stop for lunch. Amy knows they all have to work tomorrow. They should be thankful that Captain Stentley allowed them to have this day, and paid for the van. But really, this road trip is ridiculous, and she knows Holt is still in some pain, and why couldn’t the FBI just pay for all of them to fly back, since, you know, they got Figgis and everything? 

Terry allows them a half hour break, and Amy chooses a diner-type establishment, eager for something that is marginally less fast food than her past few meals. Holt joins her. It’s only half-full, with tired faux-fifties décor and even more exhausted waitresses. A place in transience. She debates ordering a salad, but she still doesn’t fully trust the restaurant, and instead goes for a soup and sandwich. They mostly eat in silence; after so many hours stuck in a van together all they want is a little peace and quiet. And as Captain Holt states before their food arrives, “Only a fool carries on a conversation while they are eating lunch.” 

Still, Amy catches Holt staring at her from across the table, and she’s covertly observing him as well. How had he changed over the six months? He’s a bit greyer, she thinks. His hair has grown out ever-so-slightly longer than usual. It’s still unusual to see him so casual and out of uniform. Someone must have bought him clothes after he was released from the hospital, because he’s wearing a pair of off-brand sweatpants and a plain black sweater. 

She wonders if he’s also cataloguing all the ways she has changed. Is her hair longer? Her eyes more tired? The changes will have unfolded so slowly they’ll be imperceptible to everyone but Holt and Jake. The months had stretched so long in their absence. Amy feels a sense of mourning for all the changes and iterations of herself that Holt and Jake didn’t get to see. 

Amy chooses to take her turn driving after lunch, figuring she’s pretty well rested after she spent the morning napping. Somehow Charles ends up in the front passenger seat and seizes control of the AUX cord. Amy just wants to be home, and instead they’re still winding their way through North Carolina, an hour or so from the Virginian border. So when Charles opts for show tunes, Amy can’t say she’s thrilled. 

“Come on, Amy. Join in the fun!” Charles exclaims.

He works his way through some Les Mis and Phantom of the Opera. She can’t help but laugh when Scully joins in. She wants to be mad, wants to tell them to shut up so she can concentrate on driving down the freeway. Then she hears Holt join in, and he must have recently taken his pain meds because she never took him as a Broadway man. Gina loudly exclaims she’s not a nerd and she doesn’t know any of the lyrics, but she takes the high harmony anyways. 

Then Charles puts on _Seasons of Love _and goddamnit Amy kind of loves that song. Terry gets into it too, and Amy starts singing along despite herself. They reach the last chorus and Amy swears she even hears Rosa’s voice. Amy’s not a vocalist, but it feels great to let go and sing. She looks over at Charles and he has tears running down his face.__

____

“That was beautiful guys,” he says.

~

Amy drives for about four hours and pulls over to switch outside Fredericksburg, Virginia. The air is cooler now, but the freeway is still pretty flat, the trees are still mostly green. She pulls out her phone and has a few texts from Jake. 

**Jake**  
_Heard you had a musical moment, sad I missed it to be honest._

**Amy**  
_Wait how??_

**Jake**  
_Gina sent me the vid._

**Amy**  
_How does Gina have your number?_

**Jake**  
_I dunno, magic probably. It was really cute though, I can’t wait till I get back with the squad again. I missed you guys so much!_

**Amy**  
_We can’t wait either! We’ve been driving forever._

**Jake**  
_Where are you?_

**Amy**  
_Fredericksburg. I just finished my turn driving._

**Jake**  
_Where’s that?_

**Amy**  
_Virgina, somewhere._

**Jake**  
_West Virginiaaaaa mountain mamaaa take me hooooome country roads. ___

____

**Amy**  
_No not West Virginia, just normal Virginia._

**Jake**  
_Wait there’s two Virginias??_

**Amy**  
_Yep._

**Jake**  
_Okay we gotta stop saying the word Virginia now it’s lost all meaning to me. So the FBI put me up in this swanky hotel and I am livingggggg._

**Amy**  
_Wow we got shortchanged. All Capt. Stentley would authorize were the cheapest rooms and van rental possible.”_

_**Jake**  
Suckas. I’m gonna watch Diehard, ‘cause unlike stupid Larry whose favourite movie was stupid Failure to Launch, mine is DIEHARD._

**Amy**  
_Hahaha. Pretty much, I feel bad for Holt._

_**Jake**  
How’s the Capt?_

**Amy  
** _He’s fine, he’s mostly just sleeping._

**Jake**  
_We have matching leg holes now!_

**Amy**  
_Is that something to be excited about?_

**Jake**  
_Of course._

**Amy**  
_So you’re discharged now?_

**Jake**  
_Yeah. Gotta check in with some doctors once I get back though. I forget the name but I think I have it written down._

**Amy**  
_Good to hear. Did you pick up your prescriptions and everything?_

**Jake**  
_Yes, mom._

**Amy**  
_And you have the schedule worked out to take them?_

**Jake**  
_Kinda?_

**Amy**  
_Send me pictures, I can help you plan it all out if you want._

**Jake**  
_You’re the best. I missed you so much._

**Amy**  
_Me too, Jake, me too._

~

It’s growing dark, and they’re just outside Washington now. Some of the trees are starting to show their fall colours here, or at least they were until the sun set. Amy is feeling positively restless. At this point, they’ve been driving almost straight for more than 12 hours, and it’s awful. Charles keeps trying to strike up conversation, but only Holt is obliging at this point—Amy thinks it must be another side effect of his pain medication. Even still, all Amy has learned is that Holt and Charles have very few interests in common. Rosa keeps throwing things at Charles’ head from the driver’s seat. Gina won’t turn her phone down from full volume, and the key clicks are grating on Amy’s nerves. She’s pretty sure Scully has been farting constantly for the past hour, and Hitchcock spilled ketchup all over the back seat and now the whole van smells like tomatoes. 

It gives Amy too much time to think about the events of last night over and over again. She knows Jake is okay. He’s out of the hospital. That means the doctors think he’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. But the same part of her brain that was compulsively worrying about Jake last night is still turning, turning, worrying about things going wrong. She keeps thinking about the moment she had to shoot Jake. All the time slowed down. And she had to aim. Had to pull the trigger. Had to leave Jake lying on the damp Florida pavement with blood leaking down his leg. 

Her phone makes her jump when it vibrates. 

**Jake**  
_Update: not going back ‘till tomorrow morning. And we’re flying! Had to make sure I was okay to fly apparently. Where are you?_

**Amy**  
_Washington. Almost there, probs 5 hours now._

**Jake**  
_God I’m so excited to see New York again._

**Amy**  
_I feel like I’ve been in this van forever._

**Jake**  
_Bagels. Good Coffee. Good pizza. Fast Internet._

**Amy**  
_What are you doing?_

**Jake**  
_Listing all the things I’m excited for in New York._

**Amy**  
_My own bed. Non-greasy food. You._

**Jake**  
_Awww Amy._

It’s astounding how much talking to Jake assuages her worries. A simple conversation is the best tool she has to pull herself from her runaway thoughts. She knows this, but it still never ceases to amaze her. It’s with that reminder that she takes a deep breath and asks Charles to tell her, again, how road-trip restaurant options are America’s greatest sin. It’s a largely pointless conversation, (and really, Amy can think of many greater American sins), but the words flowing between them slowly quiets her mind, and for that she is grateful. 

~

She drifts off to sleep somewhere between Washington and Baltimore. It’s still early, but the only thing left to do is sleep, so Amy lets herself drift. It’s starting to look like home, now, as they make their way up the East Coast. It’s amazing, though, how alike most of eastern America looks. It’s long stretches of freeways and trees. Farms, industrial parks, rest stops and fast food joints. 

Her vibrating phone wakes her, once again. 

**Jake**  
_My leg hurts._

**Amy**  
_I’m sorry Jake._

**Jake**  
_It’s okay, I’m just complaining._

**Amy**  
_Have you taken your meds?_

**Jake**  
_Yeah, I was watching TV but now it hurts too bad. I just keep thinking about last night._

**Amy**  
_Text me, then. I’ll distract you._

**Jake**  
_Tell me something about your life when I was gone._

**Amy**  
_Hmm. There was this stray cat that hung out behind the dumpsters at the 99. I don’t know how it happened, but I started feeding him every day. I called him Jake, like, if he kept showing up then it was a sign you were okay out there too._

**Jake**  
_Did you meet him because you were sneaking cigarettes behind the dumpster again?_

**Amy**  
_You know me too well. But only a few times! I actually didn’t sneak a smoke too much._

**Jake**  
_I’m proud of you babe._

**Amy**  
_Thanks._

**Jake**  
_Will I get to meet my namesake when I get back?_

**Amy**  
_Of course! With the frosted tips you two kinda have the same hairstyle.”_

__

**Jake**  
_Hey!_

**Amy**  
_I’m just saying._

**Jake**  
_Maybe we should get a cat. Once we move in together._

**Amy**  
_Jake you have asthma. I’m nearly deathly allergic to pet dander. We are not a pet-friendly household._

**Jake**  
_But maybe we could get one of those no-allergy cats?_

**Amy**  
_You mean hypoallergenic?_

**Jake**  
_Yeah that’s it. That way when one of us works late, or someone’s on nights or weekends, and the other’s not, then we would have some company._

**Amy**  
_Honestly that’s so sweet. I never had pets growing up. I guess having eight kids is enough chaos._

**Jake**  
_Me neither, my mom was always too busy, and I don’t think she trusted me to, like, remember to feed a pet. But don’t worry, I would remember now. I’d set 10 reminders on my phone._

__

**Amy**  
_I don’t even know if hypoallergenic cats exist, but it’s a nice thought._

**Jake**  
_Or maybe at least a goldfish?”_

**Amy**  
_We could probably manage a goldfish._

**Jake**  
_And I have the perfect name. Drrrrumrolll. John McClane._

**Amy**  
_I expect nothing else from you._

**Jake**  
_Mmm getting sleepy now. My leg hurts less, thanks babe._

**Amy**  
_Anytime. Love you._

~

They stop in Philadelphia, and Scully takes the wheel. They avoid letting Hitchcock drive because no one trusts him in the driver’s seat solo, let alone with seven other passengers. It’s late now, past 10:30pm, and everyone has quieted down. The traffic gets heavier, but thankfully it’s not bad at this time of day. Two hours of watching headlights pass in silence and they’re finally, finally, entering New York City. 

Scully very graciously offers to drive everyone home, and it’s past 1am when Amy finally walks through her door. She sets her keys down in the entryway and drops her bag with a hollow thud. Everything in her apartment looks foreign: Her matching table set—a gift from her grandparents, her china cabinet, her coat rack. She has only been gone 3 days, but in that span so much has happened. She has to be at work in 7 hours. She tries not to think about it. 

Amy knows she needs a shower, but she can’t do anything but lock the door behind her and stumble into her bedroom. She falls asleep rereading her text messages from Jake, a blue glow reflected on her face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I love a good roadtrip, so this chapter was great fun to write. I actually followed a real google maps route, so it’s semi based in fact, but I haven’t been to most of the places mentioned so who knows. I had a whole timeline figured out, and even had to draw a diagram of the van to remember where all the characters were sitting. Extra? Maybe a bit. 
> 
> -The NPR program mentioned is a real radio program, on a NPR-affiliated station in South Carolina. I went a little overboard on the research for this story, and frankly, I’m not sorry. It was so much fun. 
> 
> -Jake & Amy’s text conversation about getting a cat is purely self-serving. I have a note in my phone filled with ideas for a Jake & Amy cat fic, and then realized, canonically, they probably shouldn’t have a cat, especially in a tiny apartment. I don’t know if being allergic to dogs means Amy would likely be allergic to cats too, but all-in-all it just didn’t seem plausible. So the best I could do was make them have a conversation about it. 
> 
> -Let me know what you think, this is the most fun I’ve had writing a fic, mostly because I’m just letting myself go wherever I’d like. It’s pretty plotless, but it’s lots of fun.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Jake arrive back in New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [kamelea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamelea) for the beta <3

Amy drags herself into work the next day. She makes it through the day thanks to a large coffee and extra concealer beneath her eyes. The whole squad looks haggard: Rosa is wearing sunglasses in the precinct, and Charles is uncharacteristically silent. Gina is honest-to-god taking a nap on her desk—not just with her head down—she has brought a pillow and blanket and is lying on top of her desk. Captain Stentley tries to reprimand her, but he can’t wake her up and he eventually gives up and walks away. Only Captain Holt doesn’t show. Amy presumes he’s taken time off due to injury, and that there will be a lengthy process to reinstate him at the Nine Nine.

Thankfully, there’s nothing too pressing and she’s able to spend most of the day at her desk. She responds to all her missed emails. She finishes paperwork for a recently-closed case. She puts in requests for equipment, and a warrant for one of her current cases. It has been tough to establish a pattern between this series of car break-ins, and she’s thankful it was a non-violent and fairly minor case, and she didn’t feel bad for leaving behind for a few days. Amy finds the rhythm of paperwork soothing—she always has. She focuses on making all her letters the same size. Capitals in blue or black pen, of course, for legibility. 

Jake texts her a little later: He’s getting into New York at 3 this afternoon. All Amy wants is to be able to meet him at the airport, and take him home to her apartment and never leave each other again, but she’s hesitant to ask for more time off from Captain Stentley. 

And that’s how she ends up she’s sitting at her desk, psyching herself up to ask the Captain, and tuning out the commotion around her—officers heating up their lunches in the microwave, someone yelling from the holding cell, beeping from a copier that’s out of toner. She’s Amy Santiago, Teacher’s Pet Extraordinaire, she can do this. (She has to do this. She doesn’t know how she’ll cope if she can’t see Jake the minute he touches down in New York.) 

She takes a moment, mouthing possible opening sentences and miming body language. She briefly makes eye contact with the screamer in the holding cell, but no one else pays her any attention. She finally thinks she has it down (confident entrance, contrite explanation, thankful-yet-assertive ending, finishing with her signature handshake), when Captain Stentley asks the squad to gather round. 

Amy braces herself to be chewed out in front of the rest of the precinct. They all stand around the Captain in a beat of awkwardness, he doesn’t seem to be aware that he should lead the meeting that he has called so impromptu. Finally, Gina takes charge. 

“Hey, Captain Stentley, we’re back.” Part ice-breaker, part-reminder. Knowing Captain Stentley, he could have forgotten why they were gone in the past 24 hours. 

This seems to remind Stentley of his purpose. Or at the very least, of the fact that they were away. 

“How was Florida?” He seems genuinely interested. 

So he just called them over for a nice chat? Not what Amy’s expecting, but at the same time, she’ll take it. 

It was fine,” Terry replies. He sounds cautious. No one had really learned how to read Captain Stentley yet. 

“A lot of college girls,” Hitchcock chips in, and Amy shudders inwardly. 

“Come on, man.” Rosa voices Amy’s sentiment. 

Terry takes the lead defending the squad, and for that Amy is grateful. The Sarge always has their backs. Before he is a Sergeant, he’s their mentor, and Amy doesn’t know how she would’ve gotten through the past day and half without him. 

“Now, before you say anything, I know we disobeyed a direct order.” 

Stentley cuts him off. 

“Sergeant, relax, okay? Your friends were in trouble, you did what you had to do. And now I got to do what I got to do.” 

And there’s the curveball. What is he going to do? They disobeyed their Captain, their superior. That’s enough for command disciplines. She could lose the vacation days she so desperately needs to take care of Jake. Oh god, when has she ever had to disobey authority like this? Maybe when she was thirteen and snuck out of the house to go to that math contest with the boy she had a crush on? Or when she accidentally looked at her friend’s science test, and then swore to the nuns that she wasn’t cheating, even though she did see the answer? 

“Oh no, a memorandum of admonishment?” The words burst out of her mouth. 

That could go on her personnel record forever. That could stop, or at least impede, her promotions. Her life plan would be all messed up. She would never make Sergeant, let alone Lieutenant—how could she ever have the flexibility to have kids? Stupid, stupid Figgis messing up her whole life. 

“Much worse.” Captain Stentley shakes his head. 

Much worse? Maybe it’s even enough for charges and specifications. They didn’t mistreat anyone, but six detectives did just walk out of the precinct. Oh god, oh god. Amy’s covertly trying to take calming breaths. Square breathing, she tells herself, breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold. 

But Captain Stentley is still talking. 

“You’re never gonna see the sun again. Your families are gonna forget your faces. You’ll eat lunch at dinnertime and dinner at breakfast. And you’ll, ah, what was I talking about? I totally lost my train.” 

He’s not making much sense, Amy can barely focus on his words. Regardless, she’d still like to punch him in the face right now. 

“You were punishing us.” Rosa rolls her eyes, and now Amy wants to punch Rosa, too, for reminding him. Vaguely, she knows she’s misdirecting her anger, but she can’t help it. 

“Yes, thank you. I’m transferring the whole squad to the night shift.” 

Stentley looks absurdly pleased, like he’s only just now figured out how to command attention as their superior officer. (Despite the fact that a complete transfer to the night shift is a bit of an unorthodox punishment). 

Terry immediately yells out, but Amy’s too busy feeling the adrenaline drain out of her limbs, relieved. Night shift she can deal with. Night shift won’t have too much of an impact on her personnel record or life plan. Night shift she can work her way up from. 

Night shift means she’ll barely be able to see Jake. 

Oh god. 

~ 

As it turns out, she doesn’t have to ask the Sarge for permission to leave early and pick up Jake. Rosa beats her to it. Amy’s taking her lunch break, and Rosa pulls up a chair next to her, which is rare because Rosa prefers to each lunch alone, and in complete silence. 

“When does Jake get back today?” 

“3 this afternoon.” 

Rosa glances up at the clock. “So you should get going pretty soon?” 

“But, I can’t. I can’t take more time off. Stentley won’t allow it.” Amy hears her voice growing shrill. 

Rosa shrugs. 

“I’ll talk to the Sarge. And to Stentley, whatever. You should go meet Jake.” 

“But…” Amy splutters. 

“We’re already stuck on the nightshift. What worse could happen?”Rosa scowls and picks at her lunch. 

“Command disciplines. A memorandum of admonishment. Charges and specifications. Permanent record. No chance of promotion,” Amy continues. 

“Slow down. Do you think Stentley looks like he knows how to fill out personnel change paperwork, let alone start an officer disciplinary process? The guy’s a child.” 

Amy gives a snort of laughter despite herself. 

“Go pick up Jake. Don’t worry about the Nine Nine, and we’ll take care of it,” Rosa continues. 

“Thanks Rosa.” 

Rosa picks up her salad again, and Amy thinks that the conversation is done, when Rosa speaks again. 

“And say hi to Jake for me. I haven’t seen him, since, you know.” She trails off, quiet. 

“Right, yeah, I will.” Amy stumbles over her speech a bit. She’d been so caught up in herself, cooped up in that godforsaken van for 20-odd hours, obsessively replaying shooting Jake and watching him collapse on the pavement, anxiously imagining a future with a permanent mark on her record. She hadn’t given thought to Rosa, whose hands had joined hers over Jake’s leg in the immediate aftermath. Hadn’t given much thought to most of the squad, really. 

“I’m sure Jake will want to have the whole squad over, in a few days,” Amy adds. 

Rosa smiles at that, genuinely, which is rare in and of itself. It’s even more unusual for her be happy to socialize outside of the precinct. 

~

Amy is standing at the arrivals gate, waiting for Jake. There’s a man here waiting for him, too—FBI, she realizes. Honestly, this whole thing has been an exercise in patience and logistics. She introduces herself, and he’s surprisingly friendly. He does make her show ID, but assures her that, as long as Jake agrees, she can ride along with them. They wait for what seems like forever. Amy assumes Jake has to wait until everyone else gets off the plane since he won’t be able to put any weight on his leg right now. 

Finally, he appears through the arrivals doorway. Someone is pushing him in a wheelchair, but he has a pair of crutches in his hands. He still has his ridiculous frosted tips, he’s wearing a flowered shirt, grey sweatpants and flip-flops—still leaning into the Florida vibe. 

“Jake!” she calls out when he’s close enough to hear. 

Jake turns his head, and his eyes light up when they make contact with Amy. The past six months have been an endless cycle of goodbyes and reunions, but this one is the sweetest because it’s the last. Jake pulls himself out of the wheelchair, and turns around and gives the lady a fist-bump. How Jake has managed to make friends with her in a few minutes is a mystery to Amy, and so unmistakably Jake. 

“Amy.” They’re standing facing each other now, an island in the bustle of the airport arrivals. 

They simultaneously lean forward and embrace, and Amy feels herself melt into his arms. He’s leaning a little heavy on her, to keep his balance, but the weight of his arms on her shoulders makes it so very real. He’s back, in New York, with her. 

She shifts her arms so she can get one around his neck and runs her fingers through his absurd hair, and gently brings his face towards hers. She would usually shy away from very public displays of affection like this, but their reunion feels like an exception. They’re not in the back of an ambulance, or a hospital. She’s not accidentally punching him, he’s not hitting her in the head with a basketball. This is the reunion she dreamed of every night in his absence. 

~

The FBI representative insists that he has to deliver Jake to his address on file. Amy has almost had it with all the bureaucracy, but she’s willing to admit it’s what kept Jake safe for all those months. So she lets it slide, sitting in the back of the vehicle with Jake leaning up against her. 

Jake is unusually quiet on the ride back into Brooklyn. He signs the paperwork he has to, and then stares out the window in awe. They enter the freeway. He takes in the cars and the industrial land lining the road that eventually gives way to a more urban landscape. The freeway has stands of trees on each side, and they’re tinged with red and orange. Amy figures he’s just tired, and she doesn’t mind sharing the silence. 

They’ve entered Brooklyn, and in the meantime Jake has fallen asleep on Amy’s shoulder. It’s not too far to his apartment, though she’s not sure how Jake still has the lease on the place. He gave her the key before he left. Amy’s eyes feel heavy, too, and she feels so peaceful. Or, as peaceful as she can feel in a car in the city. 

She swears she just closed her eyes for a minute, but when she jolts awake because the car has stopped, they’re outside Jake’s apartment. 

Jake’s awake now, too, shifting around. He winces when he moves his leg. 

“I never thought I could miss this place this much.” He motions to the graffiti’d façade of his apartment building. 

Amy follows his gesture, and then remembers his apartment is at the very top of his walk-up building. She pulls her arm from around Jake’s shoulders and opens the door. 

“Let me help you out?” Amy phrases it as a question, but she’s already out of the car, her arms outstretched to Jake. 

He nods. Amy wants to tell him that she thinks he should just move in with her. That he shouldn’t stay in his tiny 5th floor apartment by himself. That he can sit on her couch, and she’ll bring a pillow to prop up his leg, and he can watch Die Hard and she’ll get take-out from her favourite Polish place and curl up next to him. 

Instead, she notices the pain in the lines around mouth, and the way his breathing is short and controlled. He grunts when he moves his leg off the seat and scoots closer to Amy. 

“Been sitting for a while, hurts to keep it bent like this.” He explains, and Amy’s heart clenches. 

She had sat to his right, over as far as possible so he had room to set his leg up on the seat, but he still had to keep it semi-bent. He gets his good leg out of the car, and she grabs his elbow and gently pulls him up. She’s handing him his crutches when a cool breeze rushes down the street, and brings with it the first fallen leaves. Jake raises his face to the sky a bit and smiles. 

“It’s so cool here.” 

“So much better than Florida,” Amy agrees. 

“So much.” 

The FBI representative confers with them for a minute, tells Jake he’ll be in touch, and then leaves. Amy realizes all Jake has is a backpack. 

She shoulders the bag and asks, “Do you not have any luggage?” 

Jake shrugs and heads towards the apartment door. 

“Didn’t have anything I wanted to bring back.” His voice gets lost in the wind as he turns away from her, and Amy has to concentrate to hear. “I didn’t even go back to the house before I left. Holt and I were kinda on the run, ya know?” 

Six months. He had been gone six months. Somehow Amy just keeps remembering. As soon as she forgets, something reminds her again. They start the arduous climb to the fifth floor, and Amy stays a step behind Jake, ready to steady him if he stumbles. She’s about to say something about the missing time between them, when Jake speaks. 

“You know, crutches look way more fun than they actually are. They look like they should be bouncy, like a pogo stick, but they are most definitely not.” 

She laughs at that, despite her immediate urge to apologize again. She loves the way he can pull her from her train of thoughts. 

“It probably doesn’t help that you’ve been travelling all day,” she says as they come up to the first-floor landing. 

“It does not. But it’s worth it, to be back. I made a whole list, on the plane, about all the things I want to do now that I’m back. I call it, Jake’s Super Awesome Comprehensive Back In New York So Take That Figgis Stuff To Do.” Jake finishes his speech and gasps for breath at the effort. 

“It’s certainly a descriptive title,” Amy replies. 

“I used a thesaurus.” Pride inflates his voice. 

“You have no idea how much that turns me on.” 

“Or maybe I do, maybe that was my plan all along.” He turns on the staircase to look at her, and waggles an eyebrow, and she has no idea how she finds it both hilarious and alluring. 

They have to stop on the third floor landing for Jake to take a break. His face is pale as he leans against the wall. 

“Take as long as you need,” Amy tells him. 

Amy tries to convince him to rest for longer, but after a few minutes, he’s headed back up the stairs. At one point he sways dangerously, and Amy wants to get annoyed at his stubbornness, but she’s all-too-aware it’s a quality they share. 

When they finally make it to the top, Amy unlocks his door and the musty smell of an apartment hits them full force. She goes to step over the threshold, when Jake’s hand stops her from around his crutch and pulls her forward. He kisses her, then, slow and sweet. She can feel him still a little out of breath against her cheek, but Amy feels like they’re on top of the goddamn world. 

~

“I was thinking, maybe you want to come and stay at my apartment. There’s an elevator, for one. And then I could help you out,” Amy suggests. 

Evening sunlight is streaming through the windows. Jake’s apartment is a hole-in-the-wall, but it has gorgeous west-facing windows. The sunset is pink and orange between the shadows of buildings, and Amy feels like it’s been made just for them. 

“Ames, really?” 

“Of course. Maybe tomorrow, so you have time to recover from the journey of the stairs.” 

“That sounds like a Harry Potter title. Jake Peralta and the Journey of the Stairs.” 

They’re sitting next to each other on Jake’s bed, takeout containers scattered around them. Amy insisted that they launder his sheets, though, and so they’re sitting on the bare mattress. She remembers shopping for this mattress: It feels like an important turning-point in their relationship. A movie plays on the TV across the room, but the volume is turned down low. (On DVD, since Jake cancelled the cable and wifi when he moved). Jake’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open, though, especially now that they’ve eaten. 

“Sounds epic, I’d watch it.” 

“A solid hour of me struggling up the stairs?” He cracks his eye open and turns his head fractionally towards Amy. 

“Anything with you in it is perfect.” 

She leans in to kiss him again. Really, she wants to do more than kiss, but even Jake admits he’s not up to it. He’s too tired for one, and Amy knows his leg continues to hurt him. All his movements are timid and careful. She’s dying to know all the important and inconsequential things alike that happened in the past six months, but for now she’s just content to sit next to Jake and trade jokes. 

“I really need to take a shower,” he says after a moment. 

“Tomorrow.” 

“I haven’t showered in like, 5 days? Before Holt and I had to run. Well I used a washcloth at the hotel, but I don’t think that counts.” 

“I don’t think it does,” she makes a face. “I’ll help you tomorrow.” 

“Mm my dream girl.” 

Jake’s really truly falling asleep, and Amy wants to remake the bed before he sleeps. The one thing Jake’s building has going for it is that it has laundry in-building. She’s thankful she didn’t have to trek to a laundromat. She untangles herself from Jake’s limbs so she can go downstairs and grab the now-clean sheets. 

It strikes her when she bends over to pull the sheets out of the dryer, in this very dank and slightly creepy basement laundry room. She starts the night shift tomorrow. She’s going to have to sleep in the day, and go to work for 10pm. It’s stupid, but it feels like the universe is pulling her and Jake apart again. She hates having to work night shifts. Hates the way eating in the middle of the night makes her nauseous, hates the way missing the sun makes her feel sad down to her bones, hates the way her brain always feels sluggish no matter how long she has to adjust to the new time schedule. 

When she’s with Jake, it gives her something tangible to hold onto. There’s a task at hand that has to be completed—getting take-out, cleaning the sheets, talking to Jake, even. But when she’s alone, that’s when everything hits her, again and again. She’s been through this before—she has already added “call therapist” to her weekly to-do list. Her therapist was indispensable in the months of Jake’s absence, but she’s pretty sure she’s going to need a sooner appointment. At least she needs to figure out how to stop crying every time she’s alone. 

She gets back to Jake’s apartment, huffing after climbing five sets of stairs with a laundry basket on her hip. Jake reaches for his crutches and pulls himself off the bed. The pain seems to get worse at night, and he winces every time he moves. 

He sees her face and immediately asks, “Have you been crying?” 

Amy nods. She loves that she doesn’t feel like she has to hide her feelings around Jake, the way she did—she does—around her parents and siblings. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“The night shift. Everything. It keeps hitting me.” 

“Me too.” 

They don’t have to say anything else. They’re both sad, and they’re both happy and it doesn’t make any sense. Later, they’ll talk. But right now, they just go to bed lying with an arm around each other. 

~

“Maybe if we put a chair in the shower?” 

Amy is standing in her immaculate bathroom, staring down the combination shower and bathtub tucked in the corner of the room. She’s shouting down the hall at Jake, who’s still sitting on her couch, but he has turned his torso to face her. Even a few days later, his leg has been hurting him less, and he can now manoeuvre without constantly flinching with the movement. 

“I need one of those things from the infomercials. You know the ones with the happy old guy using that shower chair,” he calls back. 

Amy laughs, and takes a few steps back down the hall towards Jake. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. Too many sleepless nights, I guess.” 

“Samesies,” Jake exclaims. “So when you were sad here in New York watching late night infomercials, I was in Florida doing the exact same thing!” 

The thought actually brings Amy a lot of comfort. She takes a seat on the couch arm. “That’s America for you. Third largest country. Same infomercials everywhere.” 

“The weirdest things were the same. Same TV. Same big fast food chains. But the grocery stores were all different. There were different sportscasters. And they only covered Florida teams, which sucked. Only got to see the Nets when they played Florida teams. You know, I’d never actually lived in a small town before. Never really left New York, actually.” 

She looks around her apartment. She has lived here for almost a decade, and she has made it a home. The rent is a little ridiculous, and the elevator breaks down at least twice a month. But here, New York, Brooklyn, is her home. She can’t imagine saying goodbye to her apartment, this floral couch, her doily collection, her careful curated bookshelves. She can’t imagine saying goodbye to this city, its potholed roads, and its food carts on every corner, the squeal of the F train, and the endless choice of museums. 

“Six months, and I never truly put together that you had never left New York before,” she contemplates. 

“Nope. Born, raised, college’d, police academy’d, employed.” 

“Same here. I mean my parents actually retired to Florida, so I’ve been to visit them a few times. And I’ve visited my uncle in Houston once or twice. But I’ve never really lived anywhere else, not even for college.” 

“It’s weird. It was so quiet. People drive everywhere! In these huge tricked-out trucks. They were as tall as me, Amy!” 

“I think I would actually miss the chaos of New York.” 

“I did, so much. At night it’s so quiet you can hear crickets. I could literally hear my thoughts, it was so hard to sleep.” 

“Enter the aforementioned infomercials.” 

“Exactly.” 

“I really think if we put a plastic chair in the tub, and then we put a garbage bag on your leg, you’ll be able to shower.” 

“Let’s do it, then. Operation Jake Get Clean. Wait, no. Operation Shower Now. Wait, no.” 

“Come on.” She hands him his crutches. 

They get him sitting in the shower. It’s a delicate process, and Amy is thankful that an elderly lady lived in this apartment before her, and the bathroom still has supports screwed into the wall. Jake ends up scooting across the tub and onto the chair, and then carefully swinging his leg over. He still finds it painful to sit with his leg bent, but he can tolerate it for a few minutes. 

“Uh, Ames. Small problem. How am I gonna reach the soap and stuff? And the tap?” He demonstrates, reaching up, hands still inches away from the bathroom ledge with Amy’s shower supplies. 

That’s how Amy ends up squished into her already too-small bathtub, in just her underwear and camisole. It feels too weird to get naked when that’s not her purpose here. Jake still has his underwear on too, because, “It’s way too weird for me to sit on this chair with my bare butt. Do you want a butt chair? Do you Amy?” 

Amy turns on the water, and Jake jumps. 

“Cold, cold, cold.” 

“Sorry, sorry. It’ll take a minute to warm up.” 

She hands him a bottle and Jake speaks again. 

“Charles would be so proud. He once told me that ‘shampooing your lover’s hair is the most romantic thing you can do.’” 

Amy is covered in bubbles, her camisole is uncomfortably wet and sticking her stomach, and her back hurts from contorting herself in such a small space. 

“Is this romantic?” She asks. 

“Oh hell no.” Jake laughs. “You have a soap mustache.” 

Amy reaches up to wipe bubbles from her upper lip, unsure of how they got there. 

“Glad we’re on the same page and all.” 

She’s so glad they’re on the same page. She’ll take a million cramped, uncomfortable showers if it means she gets to share the world with Jake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I fudged the canon scene with Captain Stentley a little bit. In the episode it’s implied the conversation where he assigns them to the night shift happens right at the beginning of the day. However, that didn’t fit with my chapter, and so I twisted the timeline a bit to make it work. 
> 
> -Went down a research hole for this chapter about discipline in the NYPD. According to their website, disciplinary measures can range from instructions and formalized training (on the least severe end), to command disciplines, and finally charges and specifications (the most serious): “CCRB complaints and discipline are recorded in officers’ personnel records and can affect assignments and promotions.” Knowing how important making Captain is to Amy, she took a huge risk choosing to disobey Stentley to save Jake and Holt. 
> 
> -Amy’s feelings about working the night shift largely based on my own experiences working overnight shifts. It messes with your body! 
> 
> -I had to look up so much information for those few throwaway lines about basketball, lol, I know nothing about basketball. I learned there are two NBA teams in Florida—who knew?
> 
> -Tell me what you think? There’ll be one more chapter coming, which should bring this story up to S04E03 The Night Shift. Although I’ve finally started my new job, and I haven’t even started the last chapter so it might take a little while.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Amy get back to normal. Or more accurately, they're figuring out what their new normal is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [ kamelea ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamelea) for the beta, whose suggestions always make my writing better.

Amy wakes up disoriented the next morning. Something doesn’t seem right. She’s lying way far over to the right, the sound of her alarm is muted, and her phone is pressed right up against her ear like she’s trying to not wake someone up. Her sleep-addled brain can’t figure it out, but she fumbles for her phone and turns off the alarm. She has to get up, get her stuff together, get to work. It takes a full minute for her to notice Jake lying next to her. Jake’s home. He’s in the apartment with her. How could she have forgotten?

How could sleeping alone have become her normal?

She still feels tired but she can’t fall back asleep, so she pulls herself out of bed and tiptoes out of the room. Lets Jake sleep because she’s sure he needs it, his leg propped up. It’s not until she opens the window in the kitchen that she remembers it is evening, not morning. Sometimes Jake joins her in bed, taking a nap while she sleeps away the day. Amy wonders how long it will take until Jake being home feels normal and routine again, like the way she makes coffee every morning. Mug in the cupboard to the left of the sink. Pour water, put in filter, add grounds, turn on coffeemaker. Wait. Pour coffee. (Her mother is perpetually disappointed that she doesn’t make authentic Cuban coffee, but Amy burns anything that is more complicated than flipping a switch).

It feels wrong, to be drinking coffee and starting her day as the sun fades from the sky. How long until the night shift becomes her normal—does she even want it to? She thinks of the life plan carefully detailed in her journal. Instead life seems to be throwing wrenches in her plan at every turn.

She’s settled at the table with a bowl of cereal when she hears Jake cry out. Jake has been sleeping restlessly since he got home from Florida, but this is the first time Amy has ever heard him yell like that. A strangled sound, a loud cry that descends into a soft moan, it immediately makes her heart pound. She abandons her coffee and cereal and speed-walks back to the bedroom. Jake has the sheets wound around his fists, his head tossed to one side. 

"Jake?" She calls softly. She doesn't want to touch him and scare him.

He moans again, still asleep, and so she raises her voice and tries again. 

"Jake!"

He jerks awake and scrambles to the corner of the bed, up against the wall, before he realizes what's happening. 

"Ames," he breathes, as recognition dawns on his face.

"Are you okay?" She takes a step towards the bed.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. Sorry did I wake you?"

"I had to get up anyways, but Jake, are you sure?"

He looks down at his lap, his fingers twisting and turning in the blanket's edge.

"I guess I'm not fine," he says in a quiet voice.

Amy wants to recommend her therapist to him. Again. But she feels like it's not the time, so instead she sits down next to him.

"It's okay."

He looks up at her.

"It'll get better, but it's also okay."

Jake takes a few deep breaths in and out, and she watches his shoulders relax. She looks at Jake for confirmation before pulling his head into her lap. They sit like that for a minute, and Amy thinks that Jake has fallen back asleep when he speaks again.

"Mostly it was the loneliness," he says, as Amy runs her hands through his hair. "The loneliness, and the feeling like the days were going to stretch forever. I don't want to go back there Amy." 

"But you came home. You came out of it."

"What if it happens again?"

"Then it'll end again." She's saying it just as much for herself as she is for Jake. "And we'll always, always be there for each other. Same infomercials, remember, even half a country away." 

"Mm same infomercials,” Jake breaths. Then he reaches up and catches Amy’s hand in his.

Jake slowly falls asleep again with his head in her lap. She texts Captain Holt and tells him she's going to be late.

* * *

The waiting room is cheery and bright. Pale yellow walls, plush off-white chairs, a selection of magazines that are only a few months out-of-date. A nature documentary plays in the corner, with shots of butterflies flitting across the screen. Amy has spent a lot of time in waiting rooms recently, but the Flatbush Avenue Physiotherapy Centre is by far the most relaxed and pleasant of them. So why can't she quiet the unease in her gut? She can't shake the feeling that the honeymoon period of Jake's return is coming to an end, and she so desperately wants to hold on to the ease of those first few weeks of sharing a bed and a life again. But, like the butterflies in the documentary on the TV across from her, that ease is fleeting.

It's a novelty to be awake in the middle of the day, and maybe that is what's throwing Amy off. The night shift makes her head feel heavy and all light feels too bright. But at the same time, the sunlight streaming through the window is welcome. That tension, the way the daytime feels wrong and yet right, is echoed in her stomach and her limbs.

Amy glances at her watch, Jake will be almost done. He's been cleared to start putting weight on his leg, but he still has to use his crutches. Now that all they're doing is waiting for, and watching, his leg heal, Jake is usually happy to go to his appointments. Happy to get out of the house, happy to feel one step closer to returning to the Nine Nine. But Amy can immediately tell, when Jake enters, that he's upset. His jaw is tight, his eyes trained on the wall opposite her. He nods, finishing up the conversation with the physiotherapist, but Amy doesn't think he's really listening. He's got his notebook, filled with exercises and other important information, tucked under his arm.

"What's wrong?" Amy asks, as soon as they exit the centre.

"It's nothing, Amy."

Amy knows it's just Jake and his inability to let her in right away. Knows that what he's really doing is a misplaced sense of protecting her. But it doesn't stop her brain from immediately spinning as many worst case scenarios as possible. His leg is never going to get better. He'll never walk again.

"Jake- if it's something really bad you have to tell me." She can hear the exasperation in her tone, and she's sorry, but the anxiety in her stomach has ramped up and spread across her chest and down her arms and she can't control her voice.

"It's not," Jake starts and then stops again. Amy can see a vein outlined in his neck. "Of course I would tell you if there was something bad. But it can still be horrible and frustrating and not be like, I'm gonna lose my leg." His voice is rising now too. He's not shouting but Amy can hear the emotions in it.

"I know, I'm-" but Amy can't finish the sentence. She wants to say it's okay, but it's not, and instead she lets her voice trail off.

They walk in silence for a few paces, their car parked a block over. Jake's crutches make a dull thud as they hit the pavement. It's not uncomfortable, per say, but all Amy can see is the ease of the honeymoon period flying out from between them and away over the brownstones.

"It just feels like," Jake cuts in, less tension in his voice, "at first everything was great because I wasn't in Florida, I wasn't Larry Sherbert anymore, I got to be with you. But now, I'm used to it, you know, and that's amazing, but it also means that I'm finally realizing how much this sucks." He stops walking for a moment and gestures to his leg.

"I know what you mean. Well-I don't, because I didn't get shot, but it's that feeling like things are going to get hard again. And I don't want it to be hard again."

"That's it exactly. It's just like my stupid leg. At first it hurt like hell. And it sucked, a lot. Then I went to the hospital and they gave me the good drugs and for the next week it actually felt pretty good. But now I have to do all these exercises and actually try to move it again and it hurts so much, even though the doctor keeps telling me it's actually healing well."

They start walking again. The sky is crisp and blue, but it feels melancholy. Like there is a whisper in the wind and in the leaves that reminds Amy that winter is on its way. A perfect, unsettling end-of-October day.

"It's a metaphor I guess," Amy says after a moment, and she's not sure if she's talking about the weather, or Jake's complaints about physiotherapy, or all of it all at once.

Jake turns to look at her. "That sounds like a Pokemon. You know, like Bulbasaur."

"It's a literary device. You've never heard of metaphor?"

Jake shrugs. "Oh no, I have. It just sounds like a Pokemon. All those literary thingys have funny names."

"Whatever you say.” Amy laughs, and a fraction of the tension loosens in her stomach. “It actually makes me feel better that we're both kind of feeling the same way."

"Like we're in sync or something?" He's referencing their disastrous first attempts to reconnect, and maybe it should make Amy sad, but instead it makes her smile.

"Something like that."

They make it back to Amy's car parked along a side street. It's been irritating Jake that he hasn't been cleared to drive yet, and he makes up for it by calling shotgun every time he rides with Amy, even when he's the only passenger.

"You still have the rest of the day, right?" Jake asks as Amy moves to start the car.

"Yep. I took tonight off, and I slept this morning. So I have all this afternoon and evening. I'm really messing up my sleep schedule, but who cares."

"Let's do something fun then. I think we both need a break."

"Do you want to rest first? We could go home for a little bit, if you wanted to nap, or even just sit with your leg up?"

"I'm okay. Let's drive down to the beach. I didn't get to go this summer-and I know what your thinking, I spent six months in Florida, but I was actually further away from the beach. Plus Florida is the worst and New York beaches are superior I don't care what anyone says."

Amy hasn't been to the beach either. For one, it's a fair drive from her apartment, which is closer to Crown Heights. But also because she didn't do anything to deviate from her routine in the months of Jake's absence. She's pretty sure her strict adherence to a schedule is the only thing that kept her going. Aside from Trivia on Thursday Nights, her days consisted of work, takeout for dinner (the Polish place for pierogies, or else the Cuban place that served _arroz con pollo_ and _ropa vieja_ that tasted like her childhood), and falling asleep with Jeopardy still playing on the TV.

They end up at Manhattan Beach Park, which is incidentally in Brooklyn. There are only a few people at the beach on a weekday in the end of October. A couple joggers, a mother and her children playing fetch with a dog in the sand. It feels desolate, but has a sense of seclusion that makes Amy feel safe. She savours the weight of Jake against her shoulder, and the cool, salty breeze hitting her face, even if she can't shake the nervousness in her stomach. She's happy she has an appointment with her therapist tomorrow. 

They find a bench not far from the parking lot, and even though Jake assured Amy his leg was fine, Amy notices that he's not putting any weight on it at the moment. When they sit down she suggests he sit against her, with his leg on the bench, and he doesn't even argue.

"What do you think his story is, Ames?" Jake asks lazily. A jogger passes by, with a tiny chihuahua in a backpack on his back.

"Maybe he's dog-sitting, but also training for a marathon?" She chuckles to herself as she watches the dog's tiny head bob back and forth with each footstep.

"Or maybe his dog has separation anxiety and it has to go everywhere with him?" Excitement mounts in Jake's voice.

"What about when he goes to work?" Amy is fully invested now.

"He's self-employed, obviously. Freelance writer, half a dozen mugs with unfinished coffee, burning the midnight oil, that scared chihuahua his only friend in his dark basement apartment."

"How does the jogging fit into it?"

"Well his friend from college, Scott Vanderhaven, a successful investment banker that makes our guy, Dean Smithers, feel bad about his life. So Scott tells him he's concerned about his health and how he drinks 32 cups of coffee a day and makes him sign up for a marathon."

"He drinks 32 cups of coffee?" Amy exclaims.

"Deadlines, Amy. It's a very stressful job." His voice takes on a faux-explanatory tone that has Amy smiling into the sun.

"So this Scott guy, he's trying to motivate Dean?"

"Exactly. At first Dean hated it, but he grew to love it. And so now he's out here jogging, but he couldn't leave his dog behind."

"Hence the backpack."

"Mhmm."

"What about that lady?" She surreptitiously points to the lady on the bench next to them, who has been delicately picking at a sandwich for the last 15 minutes.

They go back and forth, inventing backstories for everyone on the beach, until a weight grows behind Amy's eyes, and Jake starts shifting on the bench. His fingers haven't stopped tapping on the bench, and neither has Amy's anxiety entirely vanished, but she feels a sense of contentment. The waves keep crashing against the shore, and Amy and Jake make their way back down the boardwalk towards the parking lot.

* * *

It's a grey day, rain pinging against the fire escape outside Amy's living room window. Even though the sun has come up, it's still dim under the clouds. Amy is sitting on her couch, in her pajamas, eating her dinner and watching breakfast TV. When Jake appears from the hallway, it nearly makes Amy jump.

"You're up early."

"Maybe I just wanted to see you." Jake's eyes in the morning are soft and sleepy, his curls standing up on his head (even if they still have those ridiculous frosted tips). It all makes Amy melt like it's their first date again.

He settles on the couch next to her. Jake seems to have turned a corner in his recovery. He's graduated to a cane around the house, and sometimes he leaves it behind too, when he's only walking a short distance. His doctor has warned him that she'll be forced to recommend another week of bedrest if he doesn't slow down, but it’s so nice to see Jake moving around with his boundless energy, that Amy only half-nags him about it. All in all Jake has been taking the recovery as slow and patiently as she thinks is humanly possible for him. She can't help but compare it to a few years prior, when he first fell through a car's sunroof, then refused to take time off, and didn't slow down until he was quite literally run over by a car. God Jake was accident-prone. Although this time it was technically, kind of, Amy's fault.

"So Ames, I was thinking," Jake starts, "I could probably make it to physio on my own today."

"Are you sure?" An insistent, irrational part of Amy's brain still panics every time she has to say goodbye to Jake, no matter how short the length of time. What if he leaves again? What if this time he never comes back?

"It's right on the bus route, so no problem there. I'll meet you at Shaw's tonight for whatever that secret meeting Gina called is."

"I really don't mind giving you a ride." She tries to stifle a yawn. Her brain is telling her to panic, but her body is telling her to sleep.

"You've been pulling so many shifts lately, I figured you could use the sleep."

She can't argue with that. And the way that Jake looks out for her makes her feel warm inside. It's been a lot, readjusting, reconfiguring their lives, even if it's a blessing. She really could use the sleep before Jake and Captain Holt's surprise 'Welcome Home' party and her shift tonight. And she was meaning to tackle the ever-growing pile of laundry in the hamper, too.

Amy is brushing her teeth before she goes to bed, while Jake gets dressed in their room. Or her room. It feels like theirs, now, though. She stands in the doorway between the bathroom and her room, watching rain drops slide down the window pane.

"Are you sure you don't want me to give you a ride?" Amy says through her toothbrush.

Jake sits on the bed, and pulls a hoodie over his plaid shirt and he looks so much like himself Amy could cry.

"It's okay, I know you need to do laundry and sleep. Besides it's right on the bus route, and-"

"I just feel bad making you go on the bus, in the rain-"

"-I kind of want to," Jake finishes.

It shouldn’t make Amy upset, but it does. Amy tries to disguise her hurt and confusion by taking that moment to duck into the bathroom and spit in the sink.

"Not that I don't want to be with you," Jake explains. "But I kind of want to prove to myself that I can do it. All I can think of, is going back to the Nine-Nine and life returning to normal, and then I remember I can still barely do stairs and it makes me feel like I'll never get there. So it's a win-win, you get to sleep, I get to feel like I will, someday, get my life back, and then tonight we both get to par-tay, or whatever Gina is doing."

But with Jake’s explanation all her hurt feelings evaporate. Sure in a perfect world she would never have to leave Jake’s side, but what she wants more, is for Jake to feel happy. For him to heal and readjust, just like her. She gets it. She’s fiercely independent. As much as she gets on Jake’s case for working through injuries, she’s hid her own injuries from the squad too. (Nothing so serious as falling through a sun-roof though). She can understand the need to feel like life is getting back to some semblance of normal.

"Okay okay, you've convinced me." She rinses out her mouth and crosses the room to join him on the bed.

Jake wraps his arm around Amy and pulls her in. Amy’s happy she has just finished brushing her teeth as she straddles him and leans in for a kiss. Jake brings his hand up to her back and pulls her closer, sending sparks up her spine. She can’t get enough of him, one palm on his cheek and the other around his neck. His hair tickling her wrist in the best way. Jake deepens the kiss, and Amy readjusts her position. Sleep be damned, this is all she wants. Amy closes her eyes and loses herself in the sensation until Jake eventually pulls away.

“Mm Ames I have to go now. I’m meeting my mom today, too, remember?”

“Did you really just bring up your mom during our steamy makeout?”

Jake actually blushes at that and Amy can’t think of anything more adorable. She could do this all day.

"I'll see you tonight at Shaw's,” she says with one last kiss.

"I can't wait." Jake reaches for his crutches and backpack. He still prefers them over his cane when he's going out for long periods of time, and especially when he knows he's going to be pushing himself physically.

* * *

Amy gets to the bar early, but to her surprise, Rosa and Gina are already there. Even though Gina says she's never less than 30 minutes late because it, "cements her status as the alpha she-wolf."

"Did you bring the supplies?" Gina addresses Rosa.

"Got it." Rosa pulls out an electric razor and a black cape, the kind used by hair stylists.

If it was anyone else, Amy would have a million questions, but she's well past questioning anything Rosa does. Amy takes off her coat and claims a bar stool.

"We're staging an intervention," Gina drawls as she sidles up to Amy, and leans against the bar.

"An intervention for..." Amy asks.

"Jake's hair," Rosa sets down her stylist supplies on the nearest table, and turns to join the conversation.

"Oh thank god, his hair is awful," Amy says.

"See," Rosa nudges Gina's arm, "I told you she'd agree."

"I didn't want Amy to take his side. The frosted tips have got to go," Gina says.

"You don't even have to see them every day," Amy jokes.

"Bish, Jake has discovered Snapchat. Even the filters can't edit out that mess on his head. Every day it's like selfie, selfie, selfie," Gina continues.

"His hair is insulting to our friendship," Rosa adds.

Most of the squad have been over to Amy's apartment, at least briefly, to welcome Jake home. Gina stops by on Mondays to watch America's Top Model with Jake. Terry came over once with cupcakes and a stern lecture for Jake to take it easy. Charles won't stop bringing over food, which is a blessing because neither Jake nor Amy can really cook. But this is the first time everyone has been able to get together.

Terry arrives, then Hitchcock and Scully. Only a few of the squad buy drinks, because most of them still have to go to work after. Shaw's has a nice buzz, not too busy but with enough regulars to fill in the background noise. Shaw's is the perfect hole-in-the-wall bar. Gross enough that only locals knew about the place, but not so gross there were rats running across the floor.

Finally Jake walks through the doors.

"Hey everyone, sorry I'm late. So what's this secret meeting all about? You guys know I'm not medically cleared for another week."

Technically that's only true if his doctor clears him at his appointment next week, but Amy doesn't say that. She notices Jake's not putting any weight on his leg again, so it must be bothering him and she doesn't want to make him feel bad. He seems to be in a good mood though, or at least he's putting one on for the squad. Amy doesn't know if it's a detective thing, or just an Amy-thing, but she is constantly observing, analyzing, trying to read his mood and make sure he's okay. Jake teases her about sometimes, tells her it's time to turn off Det. Santiago, but it's hard to let go of the need to understand the minutiae of her surroundings.

"It's not a secret meeting, Jake. It's an intervention." Gina turns on the electric razor.

"The tips have to go," Rosa explains, leaning against the bar with a beer in hand. Amy knows for a fact Rosa has a shift after this, but apparently that’s not stopping Rosa from enjoying a drink.

"What? Why?" Jake is joking, but he also sounds genuinely concerned.

"Jake we're worried about you, and you look very stupid." Gina advances with the razor in hand.

"C'mon guys, I think they're kinda cool. Retro."

"No, they're terrible," Terry says.

"Amy, come on, you're digging the tips, right?"

"No, I feel like I'm kissing Vanilla Ice." What Amy wants to add is, 'and it doesn't matter because at least you're here and we can kiss again, and I never want you to have to leave again', but that's way too sentimental to say in front of the squad.

"There was a time you would've jumped at that chance." Jake makes eye contact with Amy, and she makes a face. Now he's just messing with her.

"They have to go." Rosa puts down her drink and leans forward.

"Alright, you guys got me. I did it as a joke. I kept them ironically. Pretty funny right?" Jake laughs, and turns to leave. "I'm just gonna head out."

Then all chaos breaks loose. Hitchcock and Scully block the exit, and Terry plucks Jake off the ground. Amy and Rosa grab Jake's crutches before they clatter to the floor.

Simultaneously, Gina yells, "Get him!" while Jake protests.

"Yes Terry!" Gina shouts when Terry deposits Jake in a chair, gently enough to gain Amy’s approval. Gina fastens the cape around Jake's neck, and she's pretty sure he tries to bite her hand, which has Amy giggling to herself.

"Okay, okay. Wait wait." Jake holds his hand out as Rosa gives Gina the clippers. "Okay. Stop, stop, stop. I'll admit it. I went too deep down there in Florida. At one point I think I forgot where the tip of me ended, and the base of the tips began. Before we just chop 'em off, would anybody like to say some final words?"

Jake is ever the king of comedy, and Amy can tell from his smile and the way his eyes dance that he's enjoying this. But she also remembers the look of absolute terror in Jake's eyes when she woke him from his nightmare. There are pieces of truth in his monologue too.

"No," Rosa says from her spot by the bar.

"That's one word. That counts. Thank you Rosa. Okay I'm ready."

Jake raises his head, and Gina grabs the first chunk of bleached hair.

"Sorry I'm late everyone, but trust me, it's worth it. Me and Jake are tip buds." Charles positively saunters into Shaw's with a hairstyle that is even more ridiculous than Jake's, if that's possible.

"What?" Charles takes in the scene, the clippers buzzing, Gina holding pieces of Jake’s hair in her hands.

"Nooooo." Charles and Jake scream in unison, hands reaching towards each other.

There's a beat and then Jake says, "You know what, I do see it. It's bad. It looks bad."

Charles looks devastated but the rest of the squad dissolves into laughter, and eventually he joins in too. Amy hopes Charles didn't spend too much on his new hairdo. It only takes a few minutes for Gina to chop off the rest of Jake's tips, and Charles' too, for good measure. Then she shakes off the cape and bleached strands of hair fall to the floor. Amy looks back at the bartender, embarrassed and sorry for the mess, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"So should I go now?" Jake looks confused, still sitting on chair where Terry placed him, between two tables.

"We're just waiting on Captain Holt," Amy explains.

"Are you gonna cut his hair too?" Jake looks far too excited by this prospect.

Amy doesn't know how to answer, but it turns out she doesn't have to, because the Captain walks in at that moment, only limping slightly, and Terry unfurls a giant banner from the ceiling.

'Welcome Home Jake and Capt. Holt!'

Jake's face lights up. He really does look so much better without the blonde tips. Suddenly there are tears threatening to spill from Amy’s eyes again, but these at least feel like happy tears. Amy doesn't know why she's dissolving into an emotional mess--she's only drinking a Coke. She moves to take the empty seat next to Jake, and wrap her arm around him, the rest of the squad be damned. (Well actually Charles will probably be overly thrilled).

"A surprise party? That's worth cutting off all my hair for," Jake exclaims.

"It was like five pieces of hair, you don't look any different." Gina rolls her eyes.

"And my hair too!" Charles butts in, pulling up a chair next to Jake.

"Squad, I am touched. I am happy to be home." Holt deadpans, which is his version of 'eyes-lighting-up'.

"Nine Nine!" Jake yells, taking Amy's glass and raising it as his own.

"Nine Nine!" The rest of the squad echoes.

Then Jake leans over and kisses her on the lips. Charles almost falls out of his chair. It feels perfect. And Amy lets herself relish this moment fully. Life will still be hard, there's still the night shift, and the fact she shot Jake in the leg. There's still the unpredictability of their jobs and six months of life lost and changes in Jake and Amy that they're both still figuring out. But right now, it all feels okay. She's sitting beside Jake, listening to him tell a stupid joke, and nothing else but that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! Thanks for following along, and thanks for your patience as it took me months to finally write the last chapter. There’s something deeply comforting, and cathartic even, about writing fic that centres on healing, that answers the question ‘what happens afterwards.’ It’s funny, I’ve never been in witness protection, or been shot, obviously, thankfully, but so much of this is drawn from personal experience. I guess because healing after trauma is a very universal human experience. And like Brooklyn Nine Nine, life is a ridiculous mix of tragedy and comedy, in a way that the jokes never feel out of place. It’s one of the reasons I gravitate towards, and love, b99 so much. 
> 
> So thank you, thank you for reading. This is the longest piece of ever written, and even though there’s pretty much no plot, I’m super proud of it. 
> 
> And for your amusement, the final notes on Random Things I Had to Research: how to make coffee (I don't drink coffee), Cuban cuisine, how to make Cuban coffee, the correct spelling of Bulbasaur, and reviews for beaches in Brooklyn. 
> 
> Please tell me what you think. Chat endlessly with me about Jake & Amy. Or say hi on tumblr: [ @feeisamarshmallow ](https://feeisamarshmallow.tumblr.com/)


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